My Sasuke
by Taes
Summary: A car crash can change everything. Worlds shift. Naruto must cope with present and past loves, while trying to make sense of his darkening world. Insanity. AU. YAOI. SasuNaru. GaaNaru. UPDATE: cast in light.
1. My Sasuke

**Good Summary:** A car crash can change everything, but maybe a smile can help them through. (thank you, Silver!)

**Original/author's summary**: There's a car crash. Sasuke goes insane. . .multi-chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I didn't ever say Naruto's mine. He's Kishimoto's (and so is the series). But the writing is a gift to Taise, so it's his now.

**Warnings: **Language. Insane people, trauma, some blood and gore.

Rated PG-13 for implied themes.

**Notes:** Happy birthday, Taise…This one's for you. . .even though I had to rewrite the silly thing 'cause of the whole "bag-with-story-was-stolen-from-work" incident.

* * *

**My Sasuke**

"Just shut the fuck up!" I yelled and the words bounced around us. It was loud, behind the noise of movement and our two voices—entwined by notes of rage or frustration. I was hot from my anger and irritated beyond belief. He just wouldn't shut _up._

The lights were dizzyingly bright in my eyes, but they were gone too fast for me to do anything more than blink. Surrounded by blacks and the reds in the distance—red little beacons of light that begged me to _stop—_and yellow in front of me that'd just turned from green.

The wheel was hot under my hands and I turned to look at him. His face, so eerie and pale in the dim light, seemed twisted with something too _wrong _for me to see. My eyes only narrowed at the sight of him and I growled low.

His voice was high with tension and frustration and I could have sworn I heard something _diff_erent in his tones—but I was too angry to care. "Watch the road!" he screamed—I screamed?—and I finally tore my eyes away—

—two pools of light sped towards us and from somewhere a loud noise buzzed in my ears.

I jerked the wheel hard to the left—trying to get back in control, back in the right lane.

Our voices mingled in unnatural harmony. . .synchronization that came from sheer terror.

For an instant the car was on two wheels—and then the night swallowed me.

I _felt _the ditch more than I saw it, and I heard my Sasuke screaming at me, for me. He choked on words I couldn't understand as we turned—somersaulting without leaving our seats. The ground reached up to grab me and the glass cracked. The first tree only served to slow us down—

I saw green in the black and heard the shouts from somewhere else.

We flipped again and for an instant I was with Sasuke, hitting against him and we _thudded_ to the ground. My feet were above my head and next to me a loud _screetch _and _thun _brought my mind to our heads—I clutched my neck and tried to keep from screaming. That, too, only slowed us down—

And we went tumbling again in our cage of steel and rubber—

My eyes burned and my arms felt as though they were aflame.

_Drnnnnn, _we skidded to a final stop at the foot of something that went _crkkk. _I shakily exhaled and tried to find my way out. Next to me, Sasuke moaned and opened the door—he walked out cursing and yelling.

". . .Sa. . ." I tried to call to him, tried to speak, but the blood in my mouth told me something was _wrong. _I choked and tried again. "Sasuke. . ."

I remember voices, and a tall man with cold, cold hands around my waist—and Sasuke yelling something unintelligible. I remember pain.

I remember black eyes and black hair. . .

And the darkness claimed me.

* * *

I _hurt. _The voices in the room faded in and out of my consciousness, and I felt myself slip back into dreams for a while.

When I woke again, the pain had not subsided. I breathed shakily and listened to the quiet, seething voices next to me while I tried to figure out what was _wrong _with me.

"Naruto. . ." Sasuke noticed I'd woken up. I smiled shakily at him and winced at the pain. My mouth _hurt. _It was too dry. . . "My head's broken. . ." he mumbled, and touched his well-bandaged forehead.

I scowled at my boyfriend and moaned quietly at the pain the action brought. ". . .and I look _peachy, _I'm sure." I mumbled, but neither Sasuke nor the other man understood. I made a face as I looked around.

Black hair. Black eyes. One Uchiha kid and one Uchiha _man _stared down at me. _Itachi, _my mind supplied the name. I shuddered as I recalled his strong hands beneath my neck—

"You shouldn't talk," Itachi noted. He ignored his brother. "You bit through your tongue." He clarified, and I closed my eyes against his bland expression. The guy looked like he was discussing the _weather. _

I ignored his suggestion and tried again, "You were—"

"I was there." He clarified.

I blinked. "You carr—"

"I carried you to the roadside and assisted your breathing."

There was nothing I could say to that, so I went back to sleep with Sasuke babbling in my ear about his head.

"Broken, broken. . .Naruto, you broke my head. . ."

* * *

I hobbled through the Uchiha kitchen with the aide of crutches—attached, I might note, to my arms. Nine of my fingers were broken from the accident. _And all _he _can talk about is his head? What the fuck is _up_ with him?_

Sasuke banged loudly through the cabinets in search of a dish. We were making lasagna. "You fucking _ass_hole, I can't do _any_thing with you here—" Sasuke was near screaming. I ignored him, and tried to find a comfortable way to sit with_out_ asking for assistance. "You never help me—"

"—and I'm supposed to do that _how?"_

"Where's the fucking _sauce?"_

A dark figure in the entryway. A quiet chuckle preceded a vague gesture to the counter. "Where you left it," Itachi murmured, and Sasuke's eyes widened with. . .something I can't even _name._

"Get the _hell _outta here, bastard." He snarled. "I don't. Want. You. Here!"

And the glass pans he'd been holding went _flying _through the air. Itachi didn't bother to move. They crashed to the ground—barely a foot in front of him—and he said, "I'll leave," and he turned to look at me. No smile crossed those thin lips. Wordlessly, he walked—_crh, kkk, _the glass broke beneath his feet—to me and helped me sit—unscrewing this and adjusting that—as Sasuke breathed in ragged, short breathes.

When Itachi walked away I realized it.

The glass had hit Itachi—

—and the blood fell thinly down his neck.

* * *

Months passed and I finally healed. I was just back from the hospital—doctors said I'd be perfectly fine now—and I wanted to share the news.

But when I got there. . .

I heard _nothing _in the way only dead silence can be heard. Shit, it was _me _without something to say. . .the house was so quiet. . .I opened the doors easily, because Sasuke had long ago made me an extra key. I fumbled through the hallways and listened for my boyfriend. . .my. . .Sasuke, I guess.

It's. . .weird. I can remember these things like they happened hours ago. . .and then I forget things like birthdays or returning calls.

. . .I'd like to just forget it all. . .forget and never come back, but what can I do but see and remember. . .?

The house, normally spotless and smelling faintly of gently perfumed wood, was rank with it. . . the stench was unbelievable. I noticed it before, like when I came in the house that day, but only after I opened the sliding door—the one to the formal room, complete with the tatami mats and everything—

It _really_ hit me then. I fought the urge to gag as I covered m nose and mouth with one hand.

There was blood.

Blood all over the floor and splattered between the woven fibers—the tatami would never be clean— and it was sticky, wet and _terrible. _But nothing was out of place. . .nothing was broken. . .like. . .like someone had _wanted _to give up. Wanted to die and leave all this crap behind.

I'm not gonna lie. My stomach heaved and I woulda thrown up then an' there if I'd eaten anything. But dry heaves hurt like hell and the stench wouldn't leave me alone and I was scared. _Shit, _who wouldn't be? I went over there to find my boyfriend, went to tell him something stupid, something absolutely ridiculous and wasteful about how I was better and no, I don't even remember _why_. He'd see it soon enough.

I remember crying. My face was hot and icy with shock. It's the most uncomfortable thing in the world. . .crying like that.

Finally, something clicked in m head. _Someone's dead. . ._And my heart froze. Sped up so that I could hardly move between the fear and horror and_ fuck. _

"Sasuke—" I croaked. Coughed, choked. _Shit. . ._I clenched my hands into fists and looked frantically for a body. _The _body. "Sasuke!"

He didn't answer me. . .never answered me. . .but. . .I moaned quietly and tried to listen for the sounds of _life. _

I remember shaking and hobbling over to the other side of the room. I think he was crying. . .there were no noises, though, when I opened the door—

—my fingers hurt—

He was holding his knees, and the blood covered him, too. I almost choked, but I bent over instead, and pulled him to me and babbled some shit about getting out before—

But Sasuke didn't move.

For an instant, my whole _existence _seemed to stop, freeze. There were no reasons for me to—

"Shit. . .Sasuke. . ." I clutched him to me. Turned him around.

His. . .expression. . .

. . .I don't think I'll ever forget it. . .

Lips flakey with blood and mouth full of spit and more blood and eyes wide, wide and staring. His mouth was stretched into a horrible grin that spoke of _nothing _but hurt and madness and a hunger for. . .

But his eyes were so sad. Wide and beautiful even then and full of unshed tears. Pain. Madness. He didn't look like the Sasuke I knew. . .

. . .the Sasuke I'd loved. . .

I pulled him to me, pressed our mouths together in the last _real _kiss that I'd ever give him. My lips remember the acrid taste of blood. . .

That was when he screamed. . .

. . .and screamed. . .

. . .like he'd never, ever stop. . .

* * *

Itachi is dead.

All that blood was his.

No one knows how it happened. . .or what actions followed what events. Sasuke can't tell anyone. . .he hasn't _said _anything. He just moans and screams and sometimes laughs. . .

It scares the hell out of me.

But. . .

I hate him. I hate that he's so selfish and arrogant and callous to leave me alone with all this crap—the police interviews, the media and our friends and—

His parents.

Fuck. His _parents _are nothing but two self-absorbed and _hate_ful people who can't even help their son with his problems. . .

God. . .his head. . .he _said _his head was broken. . .fucking asshole, he pinned it all on me. I shoulda heard, shoulda understood that he's fucked up. But

I didn't and now this—

Shit.

Fucking press won't leave. . .

Sasuke. . .my Sasuke—

—the bastard.

* * *

It's over now. All that crap with the murder. . .and the courts have sentenced Sasuke to. . .well, he's got to live in a mental health facility. They won't let me in to visit—not to his room, anyways. They told me that I'm only allowed in the day section, and only for a little bit each day.

. . .no one's mentioned out-trips.

Sasuke seems frailer, fragile almost, than before. He just _looks _at me and doesn't really smile, per se. . .he's. . .sweet, really. Like a kid.

'But don't forget,' someone's _sure _to remind the crap outta me—'He murdered his brother in cold blood!'

What does 'cold blood' mean, anyways?

My Sasuke wouldn't clutch at my hand upon entering a big, old-looking building. He wouldn't hide his head in my shoulder and pull at my shirt—

—he would hold his head high, right? Glare at everyone like _they_, not him, were insane, and he'd treat even me with that cold sort of dispassion that drives me up the wall.

I press my lips together in a firm line, and try to act like that. . .but the walls of brick and concrete scare me, too. It's. . .dead here. . .

Sasuke flinches away from the door as it opens, and looks with those wide, beautiful eyes upon the structure—prison—he's been sentenced to.

And something in him changes. His eyes narrow, and he glowers at the receptionist from behind two men—here to escort us—and he snarls. Everyone tenses but me. I smile, and pull him into an awkward hug. Like a child, he grips my neck and shoulders. . .like he wants to be picked up and spun around—

—like a bird. Like a kid.

I try to keep smiling, but it wavers.

I close my eyes, and I can't help the feelings that filter through. . .

I want _my _Sasuke.

* * *

It's. . .been awhile. . .

Sasuke's been there for a while, and. . .I visit. For a while, it was only for once a week. . .he's been going to all kinds of therapy and shit, and apparently he doesn't like it any better than I would. They've got 'im on this _star _system like a fucking kindergartener. . .it's humiliating and _awful _to do that to a guy.

_Fuck _them an' their stars.

Fuck 'em all.

I remember it, still.

The thoughts shift in my head. Sasuke's birthday is coming up. . .only a little longer an' they'll move him to the adults' wing. Shit. . .a year and some days is a _little _while?

. . .I wanna cry. . .

I want _him _to yell at me or yell _back _when we're arguing. . .not just sit there and. . .not listen.

One time, I was trying to get him to do some homework and he just. . .sat there, curled against me with his head on my shoulder and his hands on my hip. And he blew softly on my cheek like he couldn't hear a damn thing. It's so _stupid _and it makes my heart fold into a tiny, hurting ball that consumes. . ._everything_. I hate it. . .but. . .couldn't he have been that. . .sweet. . .before?

Why _didn't _he stroke my cheeks—so soft and smooth. . .the feeling of his slender fingers—and murmur little cooing noises in my ears. . .? He never, ever ran his fingers up and down my wrists, swirling into tiny little circles of. . .

. . .I dunno.

. . .infinity?

God, when he touches my lips I just want to pull him into a warm embrace and _kiss_ like we—

—but I can't.

And I've got to leave.

Got to get _out _of here before I hurt him. . .before I do _something _that

shouldn't be done

with children.

* * *

I saw them in the hallway, actually. They treated the receptionist like some kinda _lower being _instead of a person and it irritated the crap outta me. . .well, _she _just stands there with those sad eyes. . .

. . .eyes like Sasuke's. . .

And he, he glowers and puffs like a damn soldier he wishes he could be. But he's just an officer. Fuck, and not even a _good _one.

They always liked Itachi better, anyways.

I don't know why they even bother _coming _here. They hate him, can't even _like—_much less love—him. But they come and try and fuck everything up.

"Hey," I say with a grin, and I shove my hands in my pockets. My old jeans—orange and fading—suddenly seem so. . .tasteless. Even though I wouldn't trade anything for them. "How're you guys?"

Her eyes lift and swell with tears.

I'm never sure if she's crying or herself or Sasuke. . .or are her tears for Itachi after all?

Fugaku—Sasuke's dad—scowls at me, and his eyes turn to tiny slits. "Naruto," he nods. "Still coming?" He scoffs with disdain. "I would have expected you to _give up _by now." He remarks with a tiny twitch of lips.

"You should leave my Sasuke alone," his wife says, but her tone is hallowed and dead. She's reciting lines that lost their meaning ages ago.

The receptionist looks uncomfortable as I sign up for a pass. She murmurs something indistinct and smiles shakily.

I grin and reply, "I know you, Mrs. Uchiha, blame _me _for everything that's happened. . .but why don't we just work to_ge_ther now and try an' help Sasuke?"

The doctors like me better, I wanna say, but. . .the Uchiha family foots the bill.

His attempt at a smirk deepens to a feral snarl. "IF you try to continue your _relationship _with my son. . ." we ere down the hall from the sign-in station, ". . .nothing _good _will happen. You'll only—"

I laughed. "Fuck him up worse than _you _did? I mean, who could fuck their kid up worse than by saying eating anything _sweet _will kill you—through what, gluttony?" I smirked, knowing fully well that the birthmarks on my cheeks made me look wild and cruel.

Like him.

But Sasuke ran up to greet me anyways, and he pulled my smirk to a slow and steady smile.

"Naruto," So sweet. . .his eyes. "You're _here."_

He didn't say a word to his parents.

* * *

Days later, when they finally let me see Sasuke again, I got an idea.

The smile he greeted me with was amazing. . .beautiful and serene. . .not like anything he'd shown before—

I grinned at the nurse and nodded a little. The change I my pocket clicked and little, and I pulled Sasuke over to a chair. I sat down in one squishy arm, and Sasuke sat on the other—our feet soon lost their shoes and then met on the soft cushion. For a while, we just played—touching each others' feet gently with naked feet. And I enjoyed his soft attention and small smile.

I leaned in towards the middle, and Sasuke giggled as he met me there. I slowly put one hand on his shoulder, and my lips touched his ear. . . "Do you wanna go outside?"

He turned his face to see my eyes, and my lips touched his cheek. I trembled slightly, and recalled the taste of blood. . .

I grinned shakily, and winked at the closest doctor. "I'm gonna take Sasuke to the bathroom, 'kay?" and she only stared—preoccupied with someone's antics—and watched us leave.

We were outside within minutes, and the guard who watched the gate smiled at me. It was a smirk, a _lewd _little grin that spoke of a dirty mind. I just winked, and he let us by.

. . .most of the doctors know that Sasuke 'n me were. . .more than friends. . .

But he only smiles at me and _touches_ my arm, my face. . .my stomach. . .and gently traces patterns on my skin to make me warm. . .

"So, uh. . ." I smile shakily and gesture to the street. For a moment, Sasuke seems almost. . .normal. His expression is simply _bored. _Listening. "You wanna eat ice-cream. . .?" I ask, and his face lights up with a smile more striking than anything I've ever seen.

"I want _ice _cream." Even his eyes are smiling. _God, I want _you. But I only nod, and we walk.

After a while, I realize we left out shoes in the institution. So, like _any _good guy, I get us some flip-flops. True, they're girls' shoes, but who the fuck cares? And the cashier only smiles when I've bought three pairs and tuck a mismatched pair under my arm. Sasuke loves it and we go find _ice _cream. . .

My. . .Sasuke. . .I ant him back. . .I want him with _me. _And I feel so—so _terrible_ when I even _think _that.

We walk around or a bit, and buy tea for Sasuke. We return to the hospital grounds and sit on a bench to watch the clouds pass above us.

". . .Sasuke. . ." I say, and he turns to look at me. . . "Do you even. . ." I clench my hands into fists.

His eyes turn to my hands and a smile graces his lips. In wonder, he grasps my larger hand and measures our palms. And he looks at _his _hands—the backsides—and he just smiles _so _sweetly.

". . .it's not going to get better, is it?" I murmur and Sakura's words fly like bullets through my mind. _Give it up. Sasuke's gone. . ._

_You need to talk to someone. . .get some help._

One of the doctors started yelling from the doorway before they caught themselves. Caught their composure and hustled over. I smiled to Sasuke, who put his head in my lap. I listened to the wind and his breathing. I pat his head awkwardly, and said, ". . .I love you. . ."

The doctor lectured me on walking outside—she couldn't prove we'd left grounds—and she lead Sasuke inside.

I watched him with a quiet smile and leaned against the wall. "Sasuke. . ." I touched my knee and felt the tiny ridges that formed my scars. _All 'cause of me. . ._

all 'cause of me, Sasuke'll never be _mine._

If he gets better. . .

. . .if he doesn't?

. . .well, I'll always have my smiles. . .

* * *

tbc...

Chapter two is up.


	2. Blooms of Fire

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Kishimoto owns some things. Anime companies and manga publishers claim everything else.

**Warnings:** angst. Flashbacks mixed in with present stuff. Warn me about confusion, ne?

_**

* * *

My Sasuke: Blooms of Fire**_

I'm still confused half the time. When I see him…it's like it's not me, but someone else. It's _different _and strange and kind of nice. It makes my head hurt. It makes me want to turn away and never look back again. I remember the way it used to be. I recall the way it is.

He asked me.

I didn't ask him, but he asked _me._

_You want to see some fireworks?_

And I reply, _sure._

It's kind of nice, really. The thought of it.

His parents are shit heads from hell—they do nothing but complain, lecture, compare the Uchiha brothers and then snottily _laugh _about the lady from down the street. _She's put on airs. _The father will say.

And the mother will laugh sweetly and make some poor excuse. _No, dear, she's busy—with the children, after all. She's a very busy woman; being a high school secretary takes quite some time—_

And then the father will change the subject. _I don't want there to be any holes in my yard this year._

I wondered about that.

Sasuke smiled slyly, and his black eyes seemed to spark. No one noticed Itachi's smile but me. _There won't be, _Sasuke murmurs, and everyone just laughs in a dry sort of way that tells the truth.

We took the mother with us to shoot them off.

The fireworks.

It was kind of interesting, really…it was my first time lighting one of the silly things. First time for a lot of things, really. Like, watching a 'bee' spin up and almost hit me in the face. Laughing hysterically as Sasuke pulled me down and we just lay there—entwined—for a minute or two.

Itachi was the one to remind us

where

we were.

Before the mother started looking.

The father stayed home—_guarding the fort—_and so it was just us.

A wall of silence between the pairs. Itachi and his mother. Sasuke and me. We sometimes went together—Itachi's breath was warm when he taught me how to work the lighter—and shot things off. If he wasn't there—_Itachi—_I might not have gone far enough away.

The fireworks make a hell of a lot of noise.

It's…annoying, really…

But I smiled a little. Watched the flowers of fire sparkle in the air in bursts and blasts of color. Sasuke came up behind me and put a hand around my waist. _I like the blue best. _He notes.

I smile, and reply, _nah, the red's better._

Twelve years old—almost thirteen—and I thought I was in love with my best friend. Rival. Whatever the hell he was.

We watched and watched as the candles burned themselves out…the roman ones or whatever, and I forgot completely that that _strange _and beautiful day was supposed to be celebrating

the birth

of

our

country. Or something weird like that. I just remember running away from the fireworks as Itachi calmly set the fuse and stood back—two feet—and watched the sky. In the air—filled with smoke and smelling of charcoal—his eyes seemed red. And when the fireworks exploded like a flower in bloom, he didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

I forgot to watch the fire-flowers, and Sasuke I know, did too.

He was looking at me.

I remember that, because he was just staring and something flickered across his face—kind of like it does now, when he's mad, and not just—sweetly –crazy—and his head turns swiftly to observe his brother.

His eyes are narrow and black.

Not red at all.

I asked the nurses if they'd make an exception to the "no after dark visitors" rule, and they just laughed at me. _For the fireworks, come one! He's been lighting the things since he was old enough to understand what _'run' _means. It's the Fourth—_

And they laughed me off. But I think they were smiling for a good reason.

So I'm waiting in the car, thinking about that summer when we watched the sparks of colors flying in the air…

It's…weird.

Thinking of Sasuke from _then _and the Sasuke from now. And I walk up the stone sidewalk, and wonder if his mother still makes excuses for the lady down the lane. I wonder if his dad _still _half expects a crater in his yard the size of a kiddie-pool.

I wonder if Sasuke remembers how to light a firework.

How to

hold

your thumb

down

on the _lever _not the wheel.

How to keep your knees at the ready—gotta get away quick or something awful might happen—and how to hold your breath as the noise starts.

It's like watching a shooting star…the journey up is bright and swirls in wonderful little pathways that made me clutch his hand. We were still running backwards. When it _exploded _I laugh, and my eyes are—were—huge. Sasuke isn't watching the fire. He scoffs a little at my kid-like amusement.

That made me really, really mad.

I went to go stand with Itachi, next to the car. He's sitting on the trunk—lounging, really—and he smiles a little. Pulls me up, and for a second we're almost embracing. But Itachi isn't—_wasn't—_a man for showing feelings or anything like that. He just _is, _and I only see the other stuff 'cause it's

a

reflection

of

him.

Sasuke

smiles at me warily, and I pull him onto the back. It's crowded, and I pull him close to me. But to do so, I lean against Itachi, and the older brother flinches. Tightened. Got up within a minute, and I realize that the mother is waiting.

Watching us

watch

the

burning.

"Sasuke," I say now. "Can't I drop by his room? Lights don't go out 'till eleven…" and she just ignores me.

Doesn't say a thing, doesn't look at me. She just mumbles something dark and indistinct, something I didn't really hear. "It's always so _lonesome _around these empty halls…there's _not anyone here_." And her smile twitches. She messes with the paperwork, and mumbles something about a bathroom.

I stare.

Grin.

And take off at a quick trot for Sasuke's room.

We're out of there in minutes.

His hand is so _little _in mine. When we were kids, it was the other way around…I got to be held by him. I kinda miss it.

It seems like I'm _always _holding him

now.

It's not fair.

But when I see him flinch away from the huge noises—little cats do that too—I can only hold him tight, and try not to remember the warmth

of our

shoulders, barely touching each other,

barely together

at all.

That's us. Barely anything at all, now.

"Which one's your favorite, Sasuke?" I ask, quietly. We're sitting on the hospital bench.

He snuggles against me for a minute, and then roughly pushes me away. He holds his hand over his mouth and _mewls_ angrily. I just let him do it. And when he turns back to me, I offer him a hand. Palm up, fingers slightly folded.

I feel like I'm trying to convince a dog or something to let me pet it.

Sasuke laughs a little, and takes my hand. I try to lead him forward, but he pulls on me. I blink, and ask, "You want me to stand up?"

He nods.

I smile. "Okay."

Fireworks don't really _crackle. _They _boom _and break and _shatter _and _rumble _everything and everywhere. Even at nine in the evening the sky's already red.

It's like it—

—the sky—

—is aflame.

Sasuke doesn't like it very much, anymore. He jumps and cries and huddles away from the noise and snarls and lashes out and sobs and I don't know anymore, I just _watch_.

"Do you remember how to light one, Sasuke?" I ask, and rub his shoulders.

He looks at me. I look at him.

"You taught me how."

His gaze wavers. Drifts to the light in the distance.

"You don't use a lighter on the big ones, really…" I continue, and his eyes are smiling.

He knows.

"But I forgot what you use," I murmur, and his smile spreads to his lips.

He laughs a little, deep and smooth and soft. "A _cat tale."_

That was surprising. I laugh, and grin at him. My eyes are smiling. "Yeah?" And he nods. "A cattail." I laugh. "Uh, I think it has another name…" but it escapes me.

He grins, and shakes his head. The fireworks go off again and again, and I slowly rub circles in Sasuke's shoulders.

Fireworks, I think, really are kinda nice.

"Blue." He says. I look at him, and blink. "I like the blue ones best."

Now

and

then.

I smile. "Nah, the red ones are better."

And

we

share

a quiet little grin.

* * *

tbc...maybe.

I still don't have any ideas.


	3. Burning oh so brightly

**Warnings:** angst. GaaNaru implied. SasuNaru implied. Insanity all around...

**Disclaimer:** no, I don't own Naruto...

* * *

**Author's note:** if you ever find yourself in Naruto's place, please, please go to a therapist...talk to them. It's _not_ saying you're "weak" by getting help...it isn't, really. Okay? So go, please, if you ever find the need. 

...in ten years or so, your therapist might be me. **  
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Burning (oh so) brightly  
**

I opened the door hesitantly. The eyes of all the nurses had set me on edge. Behind me, I felt a brush of warm skin, and I peered into the pale blue room. The change of colors made me nervous—what if Sasuke gets sad…? I immediately felt bad for not coming earlier- despite the nurses telling me over and over, _you've got to let _him _make the transition. Just stay home for a little, all right? Leave it to us!_

It's kind of weird, really. While I'm worrying my ass off about _that _kid, I meet _him._

"Hey, Sasuke," I murmur and see him on the bed. There's a mirror on the wall—half covered—and a metal chair for visitors. I think maybe I ought to get an arm chair or something'…wonder if they'd let us paint the walls? Is that too much to ask?

Sasuke turned around. His beautiful Asian eyes stared back at me, and I almost lost it. He's just so god damned _innocent._ Or is it naivety? I'm never really sure…

I swallow. "Sasuke, this is Gaara…" and my left hand groped for the taller man's arm. I tried to pull him forward, but the read head just stayed put. I guess he's got a reason to be outta sorts…I'm willing to bet _most _of his other—if there were any 'sides me—partners hadn't driven previous flings nuts.

…kinda annoying, really…having to make these two meet…

I think Gaara's a good guy. He's…kinda over protective. Kinda moody. He's got a dad who could rival Sasuke's evil parents in abusive behavior. I mean, who the hell would tattoo the character for "love" on their kid's _forehead _and then tell 'em that nobody could ever love the _same _kid?

Parents are truly complete freaks. Insane, incompetent _freaks._

Gaara looked at me. His green eyes were cold and calm as Sasuke's were…a long time ago. "This is him?" he asked tonelessly. I'm not sure if he's jealous o' Sasuke or not…

…it's not like I ever talk about him.

Really.

I nodded and grinned one of my trademark grins. Sasuke smiled meekly, and he padded forward on bare feet. _Pit, pat, pitta padd._ His footsteps are so soft…different from the _squeak_ and _swish_ from my sneakers, different from Sasuke's mother's high heeled _click, crick, clap._ Different from the barely audible _tnn, dnnn…_of Gaara's soft shoes.

Sasuke looks at me. He looks at Gaara and walks _past _me to press into stoic Gaara's personal space. He smirks—more of a tight smile than a smirk—a little and I wonder if he could possibly have remembered a little.

What it feels like to be _with _me and not next to me. What it feels like to kiss…not to be apart. My head burns with feeling

—but not with hope—

And I wonder if he cares.

I'm…with Gaara…

It's kinda funny, how it works like that…

I wait. Wanna see Sasuke claim me as his—even though that annoys the _shit _outta me—and…watch.

Sasuke presses closer, his soft chin almost on Gaara's neck, and I realize he's a lot smaller than I'd always thought. He's bringing his hands up and looking _oh so delicate _as he touches Gaara's pale face.

He laughs, quietly.

And he tugs sharply on a piece of Gaara's hair—

The redhead grabs his hand. Pushes Sasuke back.

But he does it gently.

He's so different from the Gaara I met…but he's still the same, too…still Gaara. Self-absorbed prick who gets blood crazy and barely _says _anything.

I remember, all too easily…I remember seeing him in the darkness and finding his cold eyes fastened on me. I was going home…leaving work by myself and crossing the street to get a drink from the convenience store. Heedless of cars, I made my way easily and waved to the cashier as I walked in.

He followed me back—silent shadow—to my side of the street. Just walked after e, his footfalls in time with mine so as to keep me from noticing him…but I did.

I might not have Uchiha vision, but I can tell when some _kid's _following me…

I stopped, turned around quickly and ran towards him, one hand pulled back. He just let me hit him.

There was a tiny smile on his face, and I land a blow that shoulda shattered the fine bones in his face…but didn't.

Gaara barely flinched, barely noticed my presence, and I realized my hand'd stopped a millimeter before it connected.

My eyes closed for a second, and I felt like I was choking.

But it'll take a hell lot more than _mind games _to make me helpless.

_What the fuck's your problem! _I screamed, and his sea green eyes widen.

That's when I realized his eyes were surrounded with coal black shadows…when I noticed how creepily _insane _he looks…

Now, Sasuke's peering at his fingers, clutching at a long strand of hair the color of drying blood. He seems happy with his new toy, and I want to scream at _both _of 'em. Wanna cry 'cause I dunno _what _I feel anymore.

It kinda sucks. It really and truly makes me wanna curl up in a ball like I've seen Sasuke do so many times and rock back and forth 'till

the dark

takes

me

away. But that'd just scare everybody, and then who'd be there to help Sasuke find himself? Who'd be there to help Gaara adjust himself to a leader's role—'cause he sure as hell's gonna _get _that envoy assignment if I can do anything.

His pissy dad's gone—convicted for illegal drug abuse as well as maltreatment of minors. I can't help but smirk at the thought.

_One down. Two more evil parents to go…_

Gaara looks at me now and gestures vaguely towards Sasuke. The kid's sat down, staring vaguely at the ceiling sleepily when _know_ he's fighting off demons of his own…

…my Sasuke…

…he's just a kid, now…

It took a while for me 'n Gaara to get on civil terms to talk. That first night, we fought…or I did, anyway. Hell knows I've got enough pent up feelings to put up a good fight.

Y'know what's weird, though?

For all my cursing and vibrant _feeling,_ the only thing Gaara did was stare, smile a little, and look God. Damned. _Cocky._

…reminds me of another prickish bastard I happen ta like…

Though maybe I'm the only guy who reads _any_thing from "creepy Gaara."

…he doesn't look near so peaceful when you manage to knock heads together…

…he looks creepy as…I dunno.

Fate.

It's…weird…watching Sasuke…him watching us. For a second, if I close my eyes, it's like he's…normal. I spin around, wanting to leave as soon as possible. Gaara seems surprised—I think I hear him cough in surprise—and Sasuke just watches me go.

Doesn't say anything.

And—_God damn it_—my head hurts.

The spot where there's a little dip between your skull and your spine…if you press hard enough there, it feels like you might split your head open. If you press just the right spot, the pressure cools…the headache abates.

So I'm clutching at my head, clutching at my neck and half-running out of there.

All I want…

…all I want is for everything…

everything

to be

normal

again. But it won't be, can't be, and I _like _Gaara. I really do. So everything has to happen the way it should, and everything has to be the way it's supposed to be and I'm not _meant _to be with my best friend. I'm not meant to be happy

with him.

So I escape the blue walls and the calm, serene atmosphere so _different _from the minors' ward. No bright colors. Nurses don't wear quite as colorful uniforms…even the secretary's different.

Treatment's probably _different._ Doctors, different. Appointments are harder to make—or is that just my perception?—and none of the nurses like me as much.

I hate it.

I just want _Sasuke._

I give my visitor's pass to the secretary, mumbling something along the lines of 'things to do.' I know she can see my red face, I know she's probably noticed my 'irregular breathing' as the doctors say, acknowledged my too tight hands around my neck…she probably can recognize a

fit

when she sees one. But I'm just _sad,_ just _hurt,_ not crazy. That's easy enough to see…easy enough to understand. Right? It's just the damned headache…

I hate it.

_hate _it.

So I just keep walking out the hospital with Gaara doing who knows what—following me out, or talking to Sasuke?—and I keep walking.

At least the _outside _of the hospital hasn't changed. That much's a blessing…I start when I see a familiar form on the bench—the same one Sasuke and I've occupied so many times—and I freeze.

Try to smile, reluctantly pull my hands to my side.

"Sakura," I say, and she looks up—but she was watching me from before, I know it—and her smile is gentle. Kind.

"Naruto." She greets, a tiny smile on her face.

I made as if to touch my neck—to try an' quell the tension—but thought better of it. My body felt _so _heavy…like the blood was collecting at the bottom of each muscle—each one a compartment in itself—and _pulling _me down.

"Why don't you sit down?" her voice is soft. Smooth and nice…like she is, herself. I couldn't help but relax.

I nodded and moved beside her—only on the opposite side of the bench. I winced when I sat down. It'd rained sometime today, the bench's still wet and it seeped into my pants.

…seems awfully cold for the end of July.

Sakura sighed a little. "What's up, Naruto?" I never realized before how often she says my _name._ It's like she doesn't wanna forget who she's talking to…or maybe doesn't want _me _to forget…

"Noting." I say with a huge, dazzling smile. Lotsa people—girls, especially—say that they can forget I'm a 'working class poor kid with no education' when I smile. They say it's like seeing a burst of sunshine.

..but that's _Sasuke_ smiling. Not me.

Sakura stifles a sigh—holding it against her breast—and looks through the sunshine to see the stars. She just _looks _and says, "I thought I'd find you here."

"Yeah?" I tense.

"…yeah." She's watching the grass now.

I fidget, uncomfortable. Grasping for something that'll get through to both of us. "…Sasuke's seems to be getting along fine in the new ward…" I murmur, and swing my feet to the side of the bench—now I don't hafta look at anything but the dark, cloudy earth. "His room's _blue_ though. God knows why they'd paint it _that _color in the first place, of all the choices…I mean—"

Sakura cleared her throat. "Naruto, you're doing it again."

The words die in my throat. Hide behind open lips. "Huh?"

"…every time I _talk_ to you, the only thing I ever hear about is _Sasuke." _ There was hurt in her voice, and I almost cringe. "Don't you ever think about anything else? Like _you, _for instance?" she leaned forward, persistent as ever on a stupid subject.

I sigh. _ "Sa_kura, I do _so _talk 'bout other stuff…" I bit my lip. "I was telling you about Gaara the other day—"

Her eyes are sad. Suddenly I remember that she used to _hate _Sasuke 'n me being together…used to snap and grit her teeth and look like she was always ready to shout. Like she was gonna cry.

…how'd we become friends?

"Naruto," she sighs and presses _her_ lips into a firm line. I fidget, and try to remember when I turned around.

When I started to look at Sakura.

"Why are you _with_ Gaara?"

I freeze. "Wha d'ya—"

"Do you really _like _him?" her eyes are clear. Like a candle, burning brightly in the darkness. "'Cause if you _like _him the way you do Sasuke, it's fine but—"

My hands are white. "Sakura. It's none of your _business _why I'm with _any_one, all right?" I snap.

She looks alarmed, then irritated. "Naruto, you have every right to say that! But I'm _asking _you 'cause I want _you _to think about it. Because you need the answer more than I do." She stands up, brushing invisible dirt from her soft, blue dress.

Blue.

I stare. Wanna run. Don't wanna

hear

what she says next. She says, "Naruto, you talk to me about Sasuke's treatment all the time…I think maybe you can take a lesson from him. I think you should talk to someone.

"Talk to a therapist."

I'm on my feet now—my thin pants stick to the back of my legs, and I feel the heat coming to my face from the shame. "I don't need a _fucking _therapist!" I growl.

Not this shit again.

I don't _need _this…

"I'm not.

"_fucking_

"crazy!"_  
_

She just stares at me and I'm running so fast, running past her and Gaara. I fall on the grass—damned holes in too many places—and curse loudly. Can't think, humiliated. Wet. Cold.

She wants me to see a shrink.

Wants me to _admit _I can't handle it—can't handle life. Can't handle my boyfriend—

—and I gotta wonder…who _does _come ta mind when I say that?

Say 'boyfriend.'

Dark eyes. Dark hair. That's not

green and red and cream colored honey—_no, it's the other way…honey colored _cream_ not cream colored _honey_—_skin. Skin so like his…

shit. shit. _shit. _

_fuck._

What the _fuck's _a guy supposed to do? What's a guy to think? Say?

Itachi told me once, when I was spending the night with Sasuke to finish a project. He told me that you can't do everything. He said he tried to do just that, once. But not even Itachi could do it. I believed his words, but not his

eyes.

Fuck.

What am I supposed to do?

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tbc...eventually.  



	4. tracing the fire

**In this chapter: **The world as Naruto knows it is changing, for better or worse. He reflects.

**Warning: ** slightly poetic, slightly angsty. SasuNaru/NaruSasu hinted at, but so is GaaraNaruto/NarutoGaara. Nothing explicitly _shounen ai_, even... just feelings and thoughts.  
Naruto PoV.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto. I really don't.

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Author's note: **...this story is so confusing...the poems referenced are chps. 11 and 17 in my collection of shorts, "in the mind of a fool" or whatever I titled it (someone needs to help me with that title/summary/thing...).

So. I think I'm gonna play with Sasori in the next chapter of this...yay?

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tracing the fire..._by Taes

Gaara, you know, really _does _mean something to me. I don't know _what, _mind you, but I do know that he's important. As important as a guy can _be _to me right now…

I can't really help but backtrack, can I? Much as I despise explanation, or going over stuff that I'da left alone. Dude. Really, it's a guy thing…maybe a _human _thing, you know? Nobody likes ta repeat 'emselves, nobody likes to go and refine what they said.

I guess it's 'cause the _act _of explaining is like an admission…It's like sayin',

'All right, kid, I gotcha. We _aren't _exactly alike…'

…and ya know what?

It's not 'xactly _fun _being different _all _the time.

So.

Yeah.

What was I talkin' about?

Oh, yeah, Gaara, wasn't it?

…he's different from Sasuke in a number of ways. For one, he's got _incentive _or somethin', he actually acts on what he feels. Take me, f'r instance. He liked me, after a bit, so he told me.

I, being the easy goin' kinda guy I am, decided that was cool. So, y'know what? I kissed him.

And that was that.

So, yeah, we took each other to lunch an' stuff. We sorta tested our limits (pretty loose, but not quite to the, 'say any shit you want, I'll hear it, and still love ya, jackass,' phase Sasuke 'n me were at).

So. Me.

I was bored.

I was lonely.

Gara said he thought I was okay, so.

Yeah.

Did I mention that I'm lonely? 'cause, shit, man, I ain't. Serious. I mean, I shouldn't be, right? I've still _got _Sasuke. I've still _got _my friend…

…it's just…

…different…

Shit, man.

I don't even know what I'm sayin'.

Y'know, something about veggie pizza makes it better _after _the first serving. I mean, when you put it in the fridge for an hour or two, and then heat it up for dinner (or breakfast)? _That's_ when it tastes best.

I told Gaara so, once.

He just laughed at me, in that weird, creepy way of his.

Sasuke…wrote me a journal, the other day…or, maybe it's a poem…or a story…I'm not sure which.

It has to do with me, and him…

…and y'know what?

It was really cute. He was comforting a wall, because he thought it was lonely.

It made me sad, too.

I'd give _any_thing for the Sasuke I know now to be…I dunno, a kid…just a kid who's growing up with us two. His kid, maybe…

_Our _kid would be better, but, that's impossible.

I wish it weren't.

I wish it wasn't like this.

The other week, you know, just after Sasuke got moved into his blue, blue room with the too serious nurses—who'll never let me take Sasuke for fireworks, you can bet the farm on that—just after that? Gaara's sister got married.

Temari, you know? She's blond, blue eyes, like me. But she doesn't smile much, she just looks _softly _at the bloke she's maryin', and her eyes speak worlds.

Seriously.

And you shoulda seen 'er 'fore the wedding! Shit, man, she was so nervous it looked like she was gonna cry…I ran into her while she was standing on the stairs of the mansion they had the ceremony at, and man, she was beautiful…just like a painting or something…but the look on her face, she looked like she'd swallowed some bitter poison, some news of death or—insanity—that didn't reach her well.

She looked so lost, I had to stop.

So I put down my boxes—complicated origami folding that Sasuke taught me, that Gaara thought'd make good favors to set on tables for guests to take home—and I went up to her.

She was startled, when I put my hand on the small of her waist. She looked at me with alarm, with surprise and shock and fear in her eyes, when _I'd _almost forgotten who I'd come with.

Her brother, Gaara, I guess he scares more 'n just me, on a dark an' cloudy night.

…maybe it wasn't all that cloudy, but shit, let me have a lil' artistic license, will ya?

_It'll be okay, _I told her.

And she just smiles a little shaky, and asks, _have you seen Ryan? _

I stare dumbly for a minute, until it hits me. Ryan's her husband. _Uh, he's outside, I think, _I tell her.

She breathes a sigh of relief. _I'm not supposed to see him, you know. Before the ceremony?_

I think it's a load of shit, that ol' tradition. Most of 'em are, but I smile and nod.

She seems happier like this, and I wish that there was some kinda thing _I_ could do, like that. I'd even hide from my groom, if it meant I could share some of her raw _feeling, _just for a day.

That's the funny thing about weddings. People say that married couples aren't as _passionate _as dating kids, but hell, with all that anxiety crammed into one day?

I can see where it all goes…

…it goes by in a whirlwind of amazing, eye opening feelings that I can't even begin to describe.

_Yeah._ I say. _You don't want him to see your dress yet, do you?_

She smiles back at me. _No,_ she says. _I'm afraid he won't like it, _she laughs, and nervousness flares in her eyes again.

I feel myself smiling. _No, he will._ I say, and rub another circle around the small of her back.

She relaxes, just a bit, and I see her bridesmaids, all a twitter, relax a bit, too. They'd been trying to get a guy to say so all day, I'd bet.

A smile twitched across the girl's face, and a hint of mischief covered her blue eyes. _I bet it makes me look fat._

The bitch, she really _is _Gaara's sister. Just tried to make me squirm, the lady…I liked her a lot more, then.

I sputtered, and all the bridesmaids snicker openly.

In Japan, they'd have hidden their mouths.

Sasuke told me so.

…when we were kids…

I made my excuses, and went off to find Gaara.

The only reason I went, see, was 'cause he needed a partner for his duet…a song of the desert, a song of loss and love. Not really appropriate for American weddings, but we switched the words around to make it work.

See, Ryan's not a good friend of Gaara.

Gaara, I expect, scares the hell outta him, seein' that the dude's insanely protective of family.

But Temari wouldn't have him left out of her big day, so he gets a job of singing while they light some candle or whatever, but, shit, he's got a baritone voice, and they need a tenor for the melody.

…me and my big mouth…

Drags me all over the place, you know?

It was the second time I'd been to that place, with the weeping willows and green, green grass around the fountain…the first was just the day prior to the ceremony, when we'd been given our 'roles,' so to speak, by the guy in charge.

Shit, man, those words are _hard,_ for that song? We sang the wrong part, too, and oh _fuck,_ the look on Temari and Ryan's faces was just like, _ohmigod. Should we have agreed to this in the first place?_

Made me nervous as hell.

Later, some kid nephew of Gaara's or Ryan's or somebody told me that we weren't singing together.

It took me a few hours to figure out that that wasn't our fault…the stupid mike? It was next to _Gaara,_ and me, I'm all the way behind the preacher. Sound travels slower 'n people realize, and the difference is what people _catch,_ you know?

…Gaara, you know…he's pretty amazing…

Sasuke, too.

The old Sasuke, you could put him anywhere, even in front of a whole group o' people with a candle behind him—just waiting to catch his shirttails on fire—and he wouldn't flinch. He'd just smirk his arrogant Uchiha smile, and do as expected.

Flawlessly, 'cause that's just how he is.

Was, I mean.

…I don't even wanna think about what my Sasuke'd do now…

Fuck…

Gaara just ignores everybody, I'm telling you…

He'd be an excellent politician, in the meetings and stuff, but he's _got _to work on his public presentation…he scares the pants off of everybody…

There was a kid, at the wedding. She was all smiles, all grins and yet spoke with an intelligent, crisp accent I couldn't help but think as _foreign._ But she was funny…just 'fore everyone got there, just 'fore the whole thing started, she got this camera, see?

And you know what she did?

She stood up on _top _of the fountain ridge, just to squeeze everyone in, and with all the catcalls tellin' her not to fall or something, she leans back and—miraculously—doesn't fall in.

I bet that picture has everyone smiling in it…

And, see? There were these little, little kids, too, that are so sweet and so goofy to everyone that I wanna take 'em to meet Sasuke, take 'em to cheer him up and let him be soft and cozy to _them,_ and maybe, just maybe,

find a bit of the old Sasuke, waiting behind a layer of confusion and fear…

…but, that Sasuke….

The old Sasuke.

I don't think he'll ever come back.

I've been listenin' to shrinks for a year now, and none of 'em disagree…you can't just _go back _after something so profound happens.

You can't just pretend like nothin' happened forever.

Your head won't let you, your mind won't, neither…

…as much as I want it to…

…as much as I want…

…to trace the fire shadows, and find him, waiting.

Waiting for me.

…

…hell, yeah…

I'm not lonely.

Not at all.

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tbc... 

Not sure where this thing's going, but it's going _some_where. Thoughts?


	5. everything goes black

**Warnings:** angst. Ambiguous parts. Some trips down memory lane...possibly confusing, I dunno...not edited.  
**Disclaimer:** I own no Naruto...

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For those of you who forgot...  
**The Story So Far:** Naruto crashes his car when he and Sasuke argue over something pointless. As far as Naruto's concerned, this drives his lover to madness, and the young blond must learn to cope with the new situation. Sasuke is admitted into a mental facility. One summer, Naruto takes Sasuke to see fireworks. When Sasuke's transferred to the adult ward, Naruto is forced to take a break from seeing his old flame, and meets Gaara...the two hook up, and Naruto muses about life. 

_

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My Sasuke._  
**everything goes black...**by Taes

Sometimes, I seriously wonder why I even bother…Every time I try and do something _nice_ for someone, it backfires like nobody's business.

You see, I'd finally gotten the nurses and docs at the adult ward to go on and let me an' Sasuke _go_ someplace, ya know? It was a hell of a headache, convincing them—not to mention keeping it secret from the poor kid's parents, or they'd'a gone ballistic—and you know what? Shit happens.

_I'm_ usually the unlucky fool who's standing under the fan when it _does,_ too.

See, I'd come up with this great idea to take Sasuke around the city, yeah? Going to fun places like the zoo—we took a fieldtrip there when we were kids, I bet he'd'a remembered _some_ of it—and the docks to go fishing, shopping for a new comforter for his bed and a hard pillow. Sasuke doesn't _like_ the soft, downy ones I've given 'im before, I found out…he likes _rice_ pillows, the hard kind that supports your neck all night long.

The silly things give me a splitting headache.

That, and I thought it'd be fun to get some ice cream, despite the chilly weather…a little bit of vanilla here and there might eventually cure the kid of his taste aversion—his dislike for sweets. See, every kid needs his lollipops and licorice, I think…and hot chocolate on a winter day's the best medicine for wanderlust.

All of that, I got by the nurses, and the docs even suggested I take 'im to McDonalds 'r someplace with a kid-zone, just to play around with bright, stimulative stuff…things that might make 'im a little more responsive…

…I wish takin' 'im places were less like babysitting, but fuck…I'd rather have him than be stuck alone…

Sweet, adorable, fucking Sasuke…he's always alone.

In his head?

Yeah. But I guess we all are, come to think of it…

…makes a guy wonder if the schizos are better off 'n me, ya know? I bet it'd be _nice,_ always having someone to talk or listen to…

Anyways, I'm getting sidetracked. Where were we?

Ah, yes…

Shit and fans.

So I've got this perfect plan set up, all ready and rarin' to go. It's supposed ta be the perfect Sunday for my sweetie, and I've been telling him about it for a good month now. Then, see, the absolutely _wonderful_ idea goes ta pieces.

I work at a thrift store, have I told you that? We're all pretty close knit, the workin' class of America and pretty damn generous, to work like we do for next ta nothin'…unlike Sakura an' her trainin' ta be a A-class nurse, I'm just kinda goin' at my own pace, working while I get my head in order.

So, usually it's me an' Carrol and her sis on Sundays, but I called off a good while ago…so they'd known about my little break for the better part of a month.

Then the _other_ sister of theirs, a gal I've never even met, goes and dies on us.

See what I'm talkin' about, with all my plans and stuff?

Shit.

So, seeing that everyone else's a hell've a lot harder to push over than me—why wouldn't I be, when sitting at home just makes me _think_ of times way outta reach?—I get called in.

Fans.

So, I'm either stuck calling the whole thing off—and disappointing Sasuke—or making due with what the hell's left for me.

What the fuck do you _think_ I do, huh? Do I strike you as the kinda guy who'd give up so easy?

_Gaara,_ I called 'im up on 'is lunch break, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

_Naruto…_he returns, shuffling around a bit to get in a better position. In my mind's eye, I see him sitting on a large steel ledge, the base part of some huge ol' building he and his coworkers've been workin' on lately.

I can almost see the wind ruffling his hair, showin' everyone the heartbreaking Ai on his forehead.

_We still up for tomorrow?_ he asks, low and smooth as the desert sands.

…reminds me of similar conversations with _other_ stoic, angel-faced guys…I pushed the image outta my head, and talk to m'boyfriend for a while, just grinnin' and lettin' him relax from the irritations of work…

…see, workin' with people drives Gaara up a wall. The desert-man's just on a different level than everyone else, ya see? So, he's tried to go an' get a new job, but I'm _really_ good at convincing pig-headed, selfish jerks to doin' what's best for them. I've gotta lotta practice, see?

But Gaara's no ass. He knows I want something from him, and he can guess that he won't _like_ it. _Naruto,_ he says again, a hint of a smile in his almost-green voice. _What'd you call me for?_

I laugh, full and hard and relieved. He's saved me the trouble of bringin' it up. _Listen,_ I said, twirling the phone cord and wishing I had enough for a cell phone.

He was silent as he waited for me to get on with it.

_You know I was planning on taking Sasuke out for the day on Sunday, yeah?_ I mumbled, fast as a flame and soft so my coworkers couldn't hear me.

So that's how I got the antisocial Gaara to help me out, him and me and the sweetest, most _kid_-like Sasuke I've ever known.

…I remember when we were little, I took Sasuke thrifting once…'cause he asked me where I got my weird clothes. I remember grinning and laughing and pulling on his white, white hand, waiting for the small scowl on his porcelain face to go away while I tugged.

He was less than impressed, I think, being a kid of wealth and reputation and all. But he didn't complain…he was all stoic—as ever—and conveniently lost in his own world while I chatted with clerks and amused the high-school kids with my ability ta get around the city, despite my being in middle-school and licenseless-ness.

The bratty Uchiha kid took my hand, then, just for a second, to measure my then-smaller wrist. And he got me this funky, expensive thing (for a thrift shop) that looks like a snake eating its tongue…it's a weird bracelet.

When we finally graduated, he got me a matching necklace thing…he said it's called a 'torque.'

I was surprised he even remembered getting the first one for me...

So Gaara's being a true friend and bringing my one-time lover to work for me, so we can all three spend some time together and finally get something _done._

Ohhh, shit, that was such a bad idea...

So, I get there before anyone else, naturally, seeing that I'm _supposed _to be there at ten, and never get in 'till fifteen after...except for that day. Waiting for someone does those kinds'a things to you, see...?

So, anyways, I'm already there when the dude comes by, holding Sasuke's hand lightly in his bigger fist. My Sasuke's looking a little dazed—like he always does—and sweetly confused by the dim lights and yellowish floors.

His smile, I might add, is nothing at all like the _old _Sasuke's.

I hail the two with a hearty grin and a big wave, and we talk for a little bit, me leaning on the broom I'm _supposed _to be using, and Sasuke trying to wander off...like a little kid, bored of his parents' conversation...

"Hey, hey, Sasuke?" I wave my hand in front of his face, a brilliant grin to distract his gaze from the necklaces behind me. "You remember this place?" I prod gently, and reach for his hand.

Sasuke watches me dully, a quiet and amused smile on his charming face. He doesn't bother to reply...he usually doesn't...

"We went here, or somewhere like this, and you got me this bracelet." I push my wrist at him, the little snake proudly worn on my right hand.

My boss tells me _most _right handed people wear their stuff on their _left _wrist, but hey...when have I ever been normal? I like it _better _on my right.

Sasuke reaches for the silver thing, his mouth a soft _oh _of delight. His eyes practically glow when he shows Gaara.

I smile, and let the two go.

Business picks up a little, with me running sales and running around the store all the time, pushing along a z-rack (so called 'cause it's a rack on wheels, in the shape of the alphabet letter 'z') to get some clothes in order.

At the isle opposite me, Sasuke and Gaara push through ladies blouses. "Mostly," I tell them, "it's to keep your eyes from getting bored while I put stuff back in order..." but I grin mischievously and wink a little. "But if you find any cute ones, send 'em this way, eh?" I laugh, long and loud.

Gaara smiles a little, but doesn't honor my statement with a reply.

We must've gotten about half way through the isle of clothes when I come across this little tank top, a black little shirt with pink cherries on it, yeah? So I pass it under the isle, letting Sasuke and Gaara see it while I talk. "Cute, ain't it?" I grin, shaking my hair from my eyes.

The redhead just rolls his eyes affectionately, more amused than anything. Sasuke doesn't seem interested at all...

I glance down at him more closely, and realize he's gone and sat on the floor. I wince. He's found a little collection of dust, a string of hair with god-knows what attached to it, and he's poking at it with a little finger, smiling and well amused.

I sigh.

"Sasuke, leave that alone..." when Gaara hands my shirt back, I absently put it on the rack behind me, making a mental note to get it later. "It's dirty. Come on, get up..." I bend down, offering a hand to him.

Behind me, two chattering girls—twins?—pass the z-rack, pause not even a second and move on. But they've pushed me a little more into the clothes than I'd like, giving me a mouthful of dusty old blouses. I glance wearily at the two, and catch a glimmer of their words.

"Oh, wow, these are really hard to find here..."

The other giggles a little, and says, "Get it...c'mon, let's ask dad..."

I brush their words off, just as Sasuke pulls on my hand.

He's heavier than I remember.

We both fall down, then, him laughing quietly—soft and smooth, just like he used to—and me smiling just a little as my head hits the bars. I hardly notice the bruising pain.

His hair's spread all over the floor, like an arrangement of precious thread. He smiles up at me, sweet and soft and all too happy with this newfound game.

It takes a grinning and playfully teasing me to get him to budge. When we finally _do _rise, I catch it in an instant. You got me, hey? It's just natural for my Sasuke...

The dust-ball he'd been playing with is fluffing next to Sasuke's ear.

I have to laugh.

Gaara quietly removes the offending piece of rubbish, and a puzzled Sasuke climbs under the isle of clothes—promptly knocking off three garments and distilling several others.

"Sasuke—" I sigh, annoyed now. "Don't _do _that, okay? I have to tell all the little kids not to crawl under isles, so it'd be really nice if you didn't—"

I stop.

Look at the demur expression across the way, and it hits me...

...he's not really an adult, anymore...

...he's not really _my _Sasuke.

Gaara comes around the proper way and takes Sasuke's hand. "Hey, Naruto?" he ask, quiet. "You didn't want that shirt, did you?" his voice holds a note of amusement.

I blink. "Huh? The cherry one?"

He nods.

I grin, real wide. "Duh. Wouldn't that be a perfect little thing for summer—?"

Gaara's laughing now, shaking his head. "Those two girls, when they passed behind you—"

I blink. "The twins?"

He shrugs. "They took it when they went by."

I stop. Stare. "No _fuck." _

Gaara's reproving stare mighta scared others into helpless shudders of terror, but not me. "Don't curse." His glance adds the rest of the phrase... _not in front of Sasuke. _

At the front of the store, the bell rings. I make my way through the isle, calling, "Yeah, yeah, I hear ya!" and more quietly, "So quit it, already..."

My manager'd kill me if she heard me being so rude, but I really don't care.

It's the two twins, I see, and their Dad's with 'em...they're giggling, playing with their new outfits and happily discussing the weather. I quickly note they're a bit more, uh, _full _than me, a bit more round and a size or three bigger, to boot...

The bell rings again, sharp and high in my ears.

"How can I help you?" I mumble, and the guy grins devilishly at me, pretending to be a good ol' comedian. I put a hand over his, scowl a little, and push the note attached to the ringer. "Dude, I'm here." I nod at the note. "See, if we're _not _here you can ring it—"

The twins look at me, challenging.

I groan. "Sir—"

"But it makes me happy." The guy's grinning all the wider, a regular clown.

I frown. "—sir—"

"You're not gonna make me quit if I _like _it, right?"

Without another word, I take the bright little bell and put it beneath the counter. I look at them all reprovingly. "Dude, are you ready to check out?" my eyes are on the black and pink shirt in one of the girls' hands, a little wad of fabric.

"Excuse me." That voice, I realize, is Gaara's.

I groan again.

"You've taken my friend's shirt."

This is _so_ not my day...

The first of the two twins laughs a little. "What? We didn't take anything—"

Gaara's voice is low. Smooth. "That shirt." He gestures to the one I liked. It occurs to me that his unconcerned visage probably scared the poor girl.

Now the father's eyes are narrowed. "No, they didn't. My girls would never—"

"—it was on the rack! We just got it from there!" she, like all high school kids, thinks that outraged squeaks will win her an argument.

I swear, I'm gonna die of embarrassment.

"—his rack." Gaara nods smoothly at me.

Repeat earlier statement.

The girl sputters. "Yeah, well, customers first."

Her twin giggles. Her nose, I note, is a little higher set than the other's. I wonder if they're twins after all, or just really close sisters... "But he's a boy."

I'm red as a tomato. "Forget it, Gaara..." and then it hits me. "Shit, where's Sasuke?"

Gaara blinks. He looks to the back briefly...and shrugs.

My mouth goes dry. I lean over the counter, grab some of the guy's clothes, and start taking off hangers with one hand, balancing the stuff on my hips and agile as can be, I get the things off as I type up the price. I ignore all their comments at 'rude clerks,' and tap my fingers impatiently when I have to wait for them to decide what they do and don't want.

Finally, I'm free to go look around the store.

As they leave, the kids are chattering—loudly—about their new additions to an overfull (I'm sure) wardrobe. I ignore it.

"Sasuke!" I call. It never seemed like the place was so big, before...

...the racks of clothes and isles full of people swirl around me as I turn this way and that, looking for a streak of black hair and white, white skin.

When I find him, it's not his _face _that cues me in. It's a little but, a black pair of jeans bent through an isle—

"Sasuke!" I laugh, pleased and annoyed and...who knows what else...

But my voice must have startled him. He topples like a toddler new on his feet, and his head hits the floor hard.

I wince, and skid forward, pulling him into my arms. "Shhh, shh...it's okay, baby..."

...he's not looking at me.

Just staring.

Staring at the ceiling...like he's counting the holes in the dry plaster, ready to fly off.

It was a long, long day after that...my boss is a good lady; she lets me off early...to get my crew outta there.

I think Gaara was happy, all in all...but I don't know about Sasuke.

* * *

The busy day's gone. 

It's just me, now, alone at my apartment...having sent Sasuke-babe home again with a pretty bouquet of lilies and shit...my breath catches in my throat, I can only hear so far, and my hands are so, so cold...

I keep seeing the stuff from earlier, keep eyeing the door or my hands, like one or the other'll open, and there I'll be again, ready to react and ready to get on with it.

It's all normal stuff, see, all normal, all right and not at all stupid or lost or anything like that...

I keep thinking of what Sasuke said, about wanting to give me—of all things—that _kiss,_ the chocolate candy in the shape of a tear, hitting the floor...I remember taking it, shoving it in my jacket pocket...

I take that out, now, and stare at the silver tinfoil, eyes heavy and head spinning with the images of today. The clothes, the people, the management being _all_ bent out of shape as usual, the way Gaara _looked_ at me, the way Sasuke held his hand—not mine—the way we all ate ice cream together and laughed and laughed...

I tear the foil off the kiss, first a little, then the rest. It crumples underneath my hand, it bulges and folds and finally is free of the chocolate. It's a little warm, a little lopsided, not the perfect dropped tear, after all...I smile a little, wanting to taste _Sasuke's_ kiss in my mouth...

I put it on the center of my tongue, a tiny piece of candy amidst white boulders for teeth.

It melts, projecting a sweet, bitter taste only chocolate can provide.

I realize then, I'm smiling, and with a rueful laugh, my lips twitch.

I can feel it. I can feel the muscles in my shoulders tensing and relaxing, the shifting in my lungs as I breathe and the utter _heaviness_ of my head while I try and keep awake, try and keep sound and free of the goddamned _thoughts_ of today.

Thoughts.

They're memories now, you know? After it's done, it's just a _memory._ Can't touch it, can't feel it—

—can't taste the kiss on my tongue.

I bite down on the chocolate and open the door of my apartment. My shoes, I admit, are still by the door—a habit that'll never leave me, that one...taking off my shoes when I get home—and I make no move to retrieve them.

The feel of the tile, cold and smooth and glossy, is heaven to my feet.

_Underexposed,_ that's what kind of damn life we live. None of us _feel_ the dirt beneath our feet, the gravel or the pebbles or the grass or whatever _shit_ we trod on.

I want out.

It occurs to me, as I head down the stairs and out the building's metal doors, that I've left my door open. Unlocked.

Just begging for a robbery...

...like _hell_ I care...

The night is cool. Not yet cold enough for a coat, but good enough for a light jacket. I left mine in doors. It's not _cloudless,_ like some dreamy poets describe the perfect night, but it's _crisp and clear_ like it's supposed to be. It alights my lungs, brings color to my cheeks and puts a leap in my step.

I clasp my hands in front of me, all the sudden lost in thought like a poor little bird in a forest of leaves...

_Naruto, _Sasuke told me, when we were just kids. _Come walk with me. _He had called me up, called me out in the middle of the night, scared or lonely or bored or like _fuck_ I know...

And I said, _sure. _

Beneath my feet, the sidewalk turns to grass. The slender strands are strong and sturdy, wet and tall. They cut at my feet, and the sting of them breaks the thought, the memory.

I walk on, anyways.

_What'd you want? _I ask, when I get there. I didn't bother asking over the wire; Sasuke wouldn't have told me then. He's just that kind of prick.

Instead of answering—like a normal person—my best friend just smiles, a knowing little grin like nothing you've ever seen. He just shakes his head and pulls at my hand—smaller, then, like mine's bigger 'n his, now—and drags me down the path.

His family had a garden.

Now, the streetlamps are back. I'm back on a road, dirty with old rocks and pebbles and shit from construction.

I walk on, drifting along my thoughts.

I knew the air would help clear my head.

_Look at this, _Sasuke said, perfectly devious and not caring.

We'd gone past the gardener's shed, past the _koi _pond and down into the maze of spindly trees. Towards the grapevine.

Sasuke toed the cask lightly, his pretty little foot all too eager to explore.

I looked at him, strange and unimpressed. _So? _

He just laughed, and pulled two cups—wooden—from out of nowhere to my young eyes. _Come on, don't you know what this is? _He prods, poking and pulling and laughing at me still.

I shook my head, scowling and ready to knock his face in if he pushes it too much.

Underneath the lamplight, far down the road from my apartment, I find myself imitating that expression. I dance away from the thoughts of earlier, ready to explore something altogether _new. _

Sasuke's grin was catching. He opened a tab, pushed down and let some dark, thick liquid spill out. _Haven't you ever heard of a winery? _The little brat scoffs, the perfect Uchiha in. Every. Fucking. Way.

_It can't be! _I say, aghast and grinning now. _Isn't it illegal to make alcohol--?_

Sasuke smirked, pleased and amused and all too like his brother. His father. _D'ya wanna try it? _He teases, pushing the sharp and pungent thing under my nose.

I make a face, covering the sensitive opening. _It smells weird, Sasuke... _I say, laughing.

In front of me in the dim, cloudy night with crisp, crisp air, a bug flies. I bring my hands together in a loud, smacking _klp! _to kill it. My hands sting with the impact, and immediately I wipe what's left of the thing on my jeans. My skin crawls.

I scratch at it, and keep walking.

_Come on, try it... _a coaxing grin, a lilting laugh, and I'm taken. Done in and over and out again while we laugh and get ourselves sick on premature, molding wine...

Sometimes I wonder if you can get drunk just by _thinking _about drinking...

...shit...

Someone's calling me. I hear my name fly down the wind, into my ear and out through my eyes.

I don't turn.

I don't smile.

The construction ahead of me is a bit more crowded, a bit more dense...some kid's gone and broken a window, I find...I've stepped on some of the glass.

My footprints are red.

I blink, and stop.

Listen.

_Naruto, _Sasuke said, far in the past and never to repeat, _you know we're best friends, right? _He giggled and snorted. His breath stunk.

Mine did, too. _Yeah. _I said, grinning and laughing and holding my head too damn high.

He brushed his lips on mine—

_"Naruto!" _

—a sweet and heavenly kiss—

Cold hands grab my shoulders, shake me too and fro. There's a loud voice in my ear, too close for me to make it out.

_You know I like you, don't you? _I asked, bold and brazen and smirking like only I can.

His eyes are barely slits on his face, he's so close to unconsciousness. He shrugs and laughs and laughs and laughs...

"—Naruto!" the voice is back again.

I asked Sasuke about it, days later.

He said I dreamt up the whole thing...

...see, the Uchiha family doesn't _have_ grapevines.

The hands are warm on my cheeks, wiping away something that's gotten there, rubbing slow and gentle circles in my tender, raw skin. "—what are you doing here?"

I blink, and realize my face is wet.

It hasn't rained, has it?

The brilliant, bold hands are bigger than mine. For an instant, I wonder if I'm here or there, old or young. It's, Sasuke, isn't it?

"—why didn't you answer me?"

I recognize the voice now.

Gaara.

I let out a stiff and saddened sob, unbidden and against all my mental rules. I can't be soft. I can't be sad, I _can't. _Who'd take care of him?

Why isn't _he _in the fucking hospital, and my Sasuke—

—my Sasuke—

—here with me?

But _he _isn't, Gaara is...he's with me, he's holding me to his broad and strong chest, running his too-hot hands through my hair and wrapping himself around my frigid body. "Naruto, what's wrong?"

I shake my head, listening to the voices of the past.

_Naruto, _Sasuke said, once. _I love you. _

_I love you, too... _I said, I say it...

say it

loud and clear.

"I love you, too..." I mumble, laughing and bright and dark and all too lost in my head.

Gaara's still, now. His hands haven't moved and his eyes have undoubtedly gone wide.

I remember, too late...

...Gaara's never _said _he loved me...

I hope he never will.

I push away from him, trod forward and cry out—my feet hurt—they're raw

and

_bleeding? _

_Naruto, fuck it all, you've gone and cut yourself _again? Sasuke asked, annoyed and unsympathetic as anything.

I was trying to shave...

...trying...

"It's nothing," I said, I say. "The razor slipped...I think I need a new one..." I mumble.

Gaara stares at me, is sea-green eyes wide and unbelieving. "Naruto..." he calls. "Wake up."

I look at him, finally.

He's wearing a heavy coat, like a robe...the hood's fallen back to reveal cream-and-honey colored skin and brilliant, blood-hued hair...with amber highlights in the light. His mouth is a perfect little _oh, _his eyes are lined with coal and seem too bright to my senses.

He'd been offering me a hand, but it falls, now.

I blink. "Gaara?" I ask.

My _boyfriend _just stares. "Naruto...your feet..."

I look down.

They're plastered with old, dead grass and strong, stringy weeds and dirt. My toes are covered in a watered down solution of blood and dewdrops, caked with dirt and little tiny pebbles caught between the open skin.

It hurts.

Gaara takes a step towards me, his mouth drawn firm and his eyes set. "I'm taking you home."

I can tell it's not an offer.

Gaara takes another couple of steps forward, and the glass crunches and spreads from the road, a perfect little mirage of a mosaic. He doesn't smile, but he doesn't _frown_, either. He comes for me, ready to take me into his arms, if necessary.

The wind calls my name.

I turn to it, and there, I see it.

The darkness has almost swallowed him, this tall and elongated figure. The _dark _wraps itself around his fair and beautiful form, a sweet and elegant cape of charcoal and deep amethyst...no, I realize soon, it's not _purple_, but _red... _red like the blood on my feet, like the eyes of two

brothers

too similar and too different for amends.

This figure, this slight and slender waif of a man, he's old. Far older than me or mine, older than anyone I've seen in a long time...but his skin is young...his eyes, clear, but watered down. Long, fair and smooth hair frames his doll-like features, and a twisted, tilted

smile

adorns the humorless mask he passes for a face.

He lifts a hand, and gestures for me to _go _to him. On his finger, a ring glistens. I think it has a symbol on it, and if I squint, I can almost make it out...

_...virgin... _

I look over the androgynous beauty, unamused. "What do you want." It isn't a question.

He smiles, but makes no move towards us. _"Naruto," _his voice is soft, silky and reminiscent of days past. "You knew Itachi."

In a flash, I'm back _there _again.

_He's sitting on the trunk—lounging, really—and he smiles a little. Pulls me up, and for a second we're almost embracing. But Itachi isn't—wasn't—a man for showing feelings or anything like that. He just is, and I only see the other stuff 'cause it's_

_a_

_reflection_

_of _

_him._

_Sasuke _

in my head.

"Itachi's dead." I call to him.

_Lips flakey with blood and mouth full of spit and more blood and eyes wide, wide and staring. His mouth was stretched into a horrible grin that spoke of nothing but hurt and madness and a hunger for... _

The man comes forward, graceful and light on his feet...but all the same, the wearisome dance seems somewhat...stilted...

...as though a master puppeteer pulled on invisible strings...

"I know." He laughs, gentle and sweet and...

...utterly insane...

...shit...

"You," he's in front of me, now, his long fingers and tilted smile seem unsuited for such wide, wide—staring—eyes. "Naruto," my name shouldn't come from that pale and thinly stretched mouth, "You are responsible for his death."

Gaara steps forward, as though he would place himself between me and the graceful blond.

His smile doesn't shake, doesn't tumble from soft lips. "I am to make certain, Naruto, that you realize how...important...Itachi was to us.

"To me."

And that's when everything goes black.

* * *

(tbc...)

Someone tell me if I need to make something clear, so I'll at least address it in the next chapter...

More, whenver my twin makes me write on this. (Grinning cheezily now...)


	6. waiting arms

**Warnings:** angst. cursing. insane people.  
**Disclaimer:** I own no Naruto...

* * *

For those of you who forgot...  
**The Story So Far:** Naruto crashes his car when he and Sasuke argue over something pointless. As far as Naruto's concerned, this drives his lover to madness, and the young blond must learn to cope with the new situation. Sasuke is admitted into a mental facility. One summer, Naruto takes Sasuke to see fireworks. When Sasuke's transferred to the adult ward, Naruto is forced to take a break from seeing his old flame, and meets Gaara...the two hook up, and Naruto muses about life. Thus done, Naruto takes Sasuke to his work, they play around, and Naruto gets depressed. He wanders around for a while, meets up with a mysterious Sasori...and faints. 

_

* * *

My Sasuke._  
**waiting arms...**by Taes

I don't remember anything, save what they told me.

Gaara was _kind_ enough to inform me days later that I conked out not long after he caught up with me, and then the guy has the balls to dispute a hell-of-a-lot of what I _said_ happened. See, according to my man, there _weren't_ no ethereal puppet-master...not a guy at all, to say the least of a guy with pale blond hair and moonlit eyes...

...and my guy, he said there weren't _no_ conversation 'bout Itachi.

I'm damn lost, is all...there's nothing in my head that makes sense, not a single solitary thing, you hear? It's all lies...everything I think I know, and it's not _shit_ to anyone 'cause I'm overreacting, oversimplifying—god knows what else.

I don't know, anymore...'cause every time I think I've finally _caught up_ to something, I get doused with water so fucking cold it'd turn my eyes to ice—the truth, Gaara says...in a soft, deep voice that rolls over you like nothing else. He says the _truth's_ my "water." That it's what I fucking _need._

Damn it, he's _lying_ to me, lying 'cause he don't want me out lookin' for Itachi's past, lyin' 'cause he's an _ass_hole who don't want me hurt—

—fuck it all.

Fuck _him._

That night.

The night I met the marionette.

When I woke up, see, Gaara was wrapping my feet, see, soakin' 'em in hot water 'n pulling bits of glass and shit out...something I wouldn't have wanted to do, myself. But I don't complain, I don't moan or whimper when he gets the tiny shards, else I'll have him feeling bad for doing me a favor...

...I dunno how long I was watching him 'fore he realizes.

"Naruto," he say, all calm and bitch at me for bleeding, the mother-fucking contradiction... "what were you thinking?"

My eyes half close. I want to shut 'em all the way, but my main man, yeah, he don't like it when I forget ta look at 'im...

It's a habit.

I shake my head simply and shrug, helpless. My eyes glitter with a response he wouldn't understand, and my mouth trembles with untold secrets...

Shit.

My boyfriend's trying to make me seem fucking crazy...that's the only explanation. But I _know_ I've seen the bastard—pale and tall and beautiful as ice—I remember his voice, I can feel his eyes on me, damn it...

The world's shut me off from everything I care about. And if I let 'em, the whole fucking continent'll make me swallow some damn pills, one by one, instead of letting me watch the truth with eyes unclouded...

My whole life's going up the chimney.

It started with my Sasuke...and where'll it end, huh? Where the _fuck_ will it stop?

I left work Sunday with a smile on my face and a cheerful farewell on my lips, thinking nothing'd change 'till forever...thinking I'd wish my grumpy, caring, anti-social manager a happy thanksgiving, a merry Christmas and all that shit.

Sure, I saw her put together a pile of junk...sure thing I knew she took plants home to keep her pets—her only _close_ family—company. It was just a load of crap, that stuff, nothing she didn't have right to.

I listened to the bullshit about her being a thief, an alcoholic, a bitch, a dyke...and I couldn't say crap. 'cause who the hell'd listen to me, anyway? What good would it do?

So our little store, our _big_ place with thousands of items of clothes, we were busy, yeah? As busy as a damn thrift store gets. Shorthanded and overrun with after Thanksgiving shoppers...so.

So.

My big boss pulls me into his office one day, I remember it real well...the wind's gotten cold, and the rain just leaks down...he's got a severe little smile on his stern face, and a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

His daughter's sitting right there, right next to 'im with her drink in one hand, snacks in the other. She's a good woman, but the poor girl's sick half the time.

I offer my best smile, fidget in my shoes, and ask, "you wanted to see me?"

All sorts of thoughts run through my head—of when my best mate here got fired, my least-liked lady laid off, and all other shit of the sort.

"You know, Naruto," the guy's puffin' away on that lung-eating cylinder, a small smile level on his eyes. "What happened to our assistant manager," he trailed off.

I nod, curt and ill-amused.

He settles into his chair, awesome in his girth. "...and I'm sure you've realized your workload's twice as bad without her." He stick the used-up piece of tobacco in a filled-up ash tray, and sighs a bit. "How'd you like a higher position, son?" he asks.

My mouth goes numb, my fingers wide. "...sir..." my face flushes, stomach turns. "I can't."

He coughs, amused, and he say, "now why's that?" his eyes glitter a little bit, and a bit of resignation sets in those dark pools. His hair, I realize, is streaked with gray and white...he looks older than his years, this old bear...much older.

A million excuses fly through my head, each one more acceptable than the last.

But I shake my head, mouth dry.

My boss sighs a little, and shrugs it off. "You can go." He breathes, and I see his fingers itch for the box of cigarettes.

I leave quickly, pulling the door shut behind me. _Kllk._ Lean up against the door, close my eyes and heave a shuddering breath.

He's still watching me from the office, looking at my shoulders go up and down under the monitor.

It's no time at all before I hear the gossip 'tween the cackling hens, watch as each one burns her own end of the story, setting each other up and waiting for the fall...they've each got their own ideas about me, but the basic idea is there.

They all think I'm crazy.

_His _boy_friend's in the nuthouse...crazy as a loon!_

_How long do you think it'll be before he goes nuts on us, too?_

_Who _wouldn't_ accept a raise but a crazy guy? It's not like it's hard!_

So I keep away for the day, staying at work longer 'n necessary and skipping breaks while the hens are in the clucking house. I keep myself busy, moving guys' furnature when they're bigger 'n fatter 'n me, and I'm just smiling a Naruto smile...grinning with eyes

wide

shut.

I can feel their irritation, see their mirth, and I just grin as I sell old clothes, help kids get the toy they never said they wanted, wrap dishes that will break anyways.

Every day now, for the past few weeks...I see it. A dainty smile, wide, glass eyed little puppet with hair the color of wheat under moonshine.

My puppet-master always keeps an eye on me...he's always close by...but not close enough, 'cause I'm always _with_ somebody.

Someone's lips moved, someone's mouth said, _pull him up. Pull him on._

It's enough to unnerve a guy.

I can't convince Gaara to walk me home at night. He says it's too far, I bitch every night, but he just won't believe me when I tell him—_someone's following me._ He thinks I'm just pulling on him, trying to get him to stay at my place more than he should.

So it's a cold day, cold enough for early winter so that everyone's always asking about sweaters, jackets and coats and whatnot...and my mind is half on where the hell Gaara is, half on the forecasts for snow, wondering if I need to hitch a ride home.

And then comes this guy.

You know...there are times when I've got to ask...why the _hell_ does a guy come into a second-hand store and act as though he's lord of the whole damn place?

Now, I know arrogant bastards. There's a whole clan full of 'em that know me on sight. Then there's Gaara...something else altogether, really. He's...not exactly conceited, not like this prick who comes in at six at night with a grumpy scowl and awful taste in clothes.

The ass who comes in, I know him okay. He drops by every now and again, always bitching about the low quality of our goods and the "high" prices. So he fucks with us cashiers, always saying an object's not worth half its marked price, on and on like we've got a say in it all.

Like hell.

So that day he bugs me, I was minding my own business, busying myself with a cart full of old books, filling the shelves like it's nothing at all. So said man stalks up behind me, mouth pursed in a thin line, holding two sweaters.

I eye the things with distaste and a small frown.

My feelings must've carried, so the guy's usual irritation bumps up a notch. "These don't have a price on them." He says slowly, like he's afraid I don't follow.

I sigh, and shrug. "They're probably four-ninety-eight," I offer and turn away. I don't feel like arguing with him that day.

And this is the lovely beginning to the longest conversation I've ever _had_ with the bastard. So I'm standing there, and I remember, suddenly, that one of the nicer girls pointed it out to me once, seeing I'm too 'nice' to know—this guy smells like alcohol.

_He_ says my prices are outrageous.

I refuse to back down, show him other styles—with the same price.

He scoffs, "surely you aren't the only one here." As though he'd contest my authority over something that little.

My irritation flares. "Yes, actually." I grit my teeth, "I'm on my own today, except for the assistant manager—"

"Where is he?"

I start to shrug, start to protest my uninformed state, when he hurriedly cuts me off.

"Let me go talk to him..." he mutters, and swift as a snake about to strike, he's off...eager to save himself two dollars and some ragtag, dull sweaters.

I ignore him for a while, until he comes back with a malevolent little _smirk_ of triumph on his round, ruddy features. "They're one-ninety-eight each." Says the guy.

I glare at the new assistant—a position offered to me, but refused—and I wonder what makes my buddy side with this awful man.

I disagree with the statement made, and this guy has the gall to object, "he's higher up than you, don't you think there's a reason for that? He knows more than you do!"

"—and I've _been_ here longer, and I work more with prices—"

The argument could have gone on forever, and all over two fucking dollars.

My dark skinned friend cops out, saying—like he usually does—to call _his_ boss when he doesn't know.

I think it's kinda annoying, that he doesn't listen to my opinion, when I've been here so long.

But we call up our boss at dinner, and he says exactly what I said—

—much to my _favorite_ customer's annoyance.

He retreats, putting the garments on an abandoned rack, raging, "I can't believe I'm letting someone who makes four-fifty an hour bother me."

My eyes narrow. I open my mouth.

He cuts me short. "All right." The unheard _bastard_ echoes between us. "You've got your wish."

I roll my eyes. "It's not necessarily my _wish,_ sir—"

He argues with me on that for a bit, and finally holds up his hands, like he's the master of an insolent little puppet. "—just stop talking. You're annoying me."

I grumble, "—sir, I assure you, that's not my—"

"Stop. Talking." His voice is firm, filled with indignant frustration. "Just. Stop."

...so all down the aisle he stomps, growling to anyone who'll listen about a stupid kid who doesn't listen to authority.

My stomach turns around and around for a good while afterwards, and the damn sarcastic man bothers me—on and on—while I grumpily try to ignore him while still doing my job.

Bind my eyes, tie my hands and feet...cast me from the darkest tower and watch me fall weakly, watch me dance a puppet's walk with unaccustomed grace.

Fuck the holidays, screw the snows and god damn all gift-giving shopping sprees. On Christmas Eve I'm sacking purchases, wishing late people happy holidays when I _should_ be holding hot chocolate with Sas—

—Gaara...sipping quietly and laughing like lovers should.

I got off early—thank the lord—and took myself out of doors, hurrying along the sidewalk with holiday carols under my breath and an anxious smile flitting between me and the cold Christmas air.

There's a shift in light, and a faint _kkkk_ of wooden limbs on cement. My heart skips, my pulse quickens and I can't help but catch the breath in my throat—but I shove all thoughts of stalkers and Itachi out of my head. Nothing will keep me from going...

My head's too dizzy, my lungs too full. Nothing's for it but to walk onwards, push for the hospital with a small package clutched between cold fingers.

Gaara knows I'm going. I said I'd be back...he knows I'll find my way to his place once I catch the right bus. He _remembers_ that my car's in the shop—has been for a long while due to hell knows what—he _knows._

It takes me no time at all to get the hospital, not time in comparison, anyways. I find my hands clutching at various things to keep from noticing the flow of the clock, and at last my hands meet cold metal doors.

The nurses nodded at me that cold Christmas Eve, and that's...

...it.

I know it sounds like a load of crap, that I can't remember anything else...not seeing Sasuke, not the room, not the adorable, childish card I found tucked in my pocket, later. I don't recall his soft, sweet smile of misunderstanding. I don't even know if he _liked_the present I gave him, the little toy giraffe...I don't re_mem_ber if he liked the bow better 'n the stuffed plushy...

...but I remember some things afterwards...

...a little.

Gaara and dinner—turkey, veggies and sparkling grape juice spiked with some dry wine, I saw this in the fridge the following morning—and I recall holding Gaara close to me, remember pressing my face into his hair and pretending his warm, smooth and _gently_ soft body was colder, firmer, and attached to a black-eyed, black-haired young man with pride to match an ocean.

My hands are too warm. My eyes are tired, and I'm really too dead to do anything.

So Christmas Eve blends to Christmas morning, and I find myself wandering over to the kitchen. Gaara's kitchen, see, is bigger 'n mine. He's got room enough for two people to stand comfortably—to dance, even—and plenty of materials to take advantage of...even though I doubt he so much as touches most of them.

There's a recipe one of my foster moms taught me about how to use leftover turkey...she calls the product "hot-browns," and uses a combination of bread, mashed potatoes, cheese and seasoning. It's not hard, so there I am at eight in the morning, holding a plate full of leftover turkey in my boxer shorts.

The hot-browns remind me of sandwiches, most of the time; they're good enough, too. Except for when I forget to check the burner or let hair catch fire...then it's awful smelling and generally not so nice a thing.

...hair...

Gaara's, you know...it's amazingly soft. I mean, I remember Sasuke's, too...it's smooth, silky when pet like some costly fabric. But it's coarse on soft cheeks...much stiffer than western hair, but you know what? It looks damn near perfect even untamed, uncontrolled...but mine 'n Gaara's, yeah? It's soft enough but often too puffy, too _full_ first thing in the morning—which is why it falls onto unsuspecting skillets—and a pain to get unknotted.

...my Sasuke, yeah? He's perfect. There's no other way to say it.

I realize Gaara's awake when I feel his hand on my shoulder...I guess I didn't hear him in the commotion of the smoke...see, when I let one of my boyfriends know I'm there, I'm not nearly that subtle. I'll snake my arms around his chest, pull him close and trace tiny, light circles on his skin...it's enough to make your senses prickle with delight, to waken you and stimulate unused muscles—

—the _old_ Sasuke would laugh darkly, calling, _"Oi, Naruto—"_

...while the childish young man I've got instead...he just starts like I've shocked him, or falls limp against me like he's some kind of cat...

Gaara, now. He stiffens, usually, before worming his way out and returning the hug with an easy embrace. All of it's short lived...all too quick.

Even as Gaara opens his mouth to greet me, I'm overwhelmed by the

soft

silent

and oh-too

blue

differences between my loves...the firm set of determination in someone past, the soft disposition of indifference of the new...

So what can I do, hmm? I stall his words the best way I know how, being all-too willing to stall any coming events with a single, solid meeting of lips...my tongue slides past a murmur of surprise, tasting, searching for the

soft,

wet

and oh-so warm breath of a desert born brat with strong arms and a crying heart. The pressure is firm, soft and unbelievable—

—at last we pull apart, breathe harsher than intended. Sweet lips swollen. My mouth tastes of his—water and mint like a mountain spring—and gently, I wipe free the liquid dotting my mouth.

Gaara looks at me with coal-lined eyes, and the deep, startling gaze reminds me..._you don't belong here._

When his mouth parts again, he runs the tip of his pink tongue along the smooth lips, and an engaging smile touches his eyes. "Naruto," he breathes, "my sister is expecting us."

I let the words flow over me, willing them to numb my heart or fill it up, but nothing of the sort happened. I nodded, then, and move for the saran wrap...to get the hot-browns...and I want Gaara to put his arms around me. I want him to

pull

me

close. I would forget the things he mentions, and I would  
open no more doors.

"...let's go visit Sasuke afterwards," I mumble, and watch.

A flicker of understanding, a wry twist of lips, and his earlier content falls thin. "Of course," he murmurs, "but what about _your_ fami—"

I've leaned in once again, stealing the question from his lips with a perfect grin and challenging laugh. The hot-browns forgotten, and Gaara's mouth is put to more beneficial use.

I _would_ that I forget.

The morning passes with quick showers, hustling of gifts to brightly decorated bags, soft tinsel and elaborate crumpled ribbons Sakura taught me how to make. We're off before I know it, with a plate full of homemade cranberry sauce and a bottle of pickled apricots in my pocket.

It makes no sense, you know, but for whatever reasons, Temari has adopted Gaara and Kankuro into her in-laws' family. What's worse, she's dragged me along by invitation to her new parents' house...I suspect this is to makeup for their convicted father's absence—screw that acid-junkie, anyways, he never did anything _good_ for his kids—and is trying to supplement the crappy guy with a more...uh, normal...family.

Only the lord understands the workings of women's minds. Hell knows _I_ don't get it...

I brushed those thoughts aside, finding myself smiling slightly. "Merry...Christmas," I mumble, and look awkwardly at my boyfriend.

Holidays have never been my strong suit...my foster families never could include me like they did their own kids—maybe I was too much of a handful—and none of my friends were much better...Sakura being out of the state, most of the time...

So Temari laughs a little, a cocky little smirk on her round face—so similar to her male siblings—as she takes her husband's hand. "Glad you could come, Naruto," her golden hair jostles from her, and an undeniable twinkle glistens in her beautiful eyes, "...maybe you can keep Gaara in line, hm?"

The in-laws exchanged glances, small eyes amused at the flavor-filled girl's suggestion.

I wondered vaguely at how they _felt_ about their daughter-in-law's brother bringing a boyfriend to Christmas, but the thought was shoved aside as a whirlwind of dizzying conversations picked up.

Temari's husband—Ryan, I think his name is?—kept laughing at odd frowns of Kankuro's, and the stories of his wife's two "hilarious" kid brothers. The guy got along with his wife to an amazing degree, despite the fact that his nature was more open and kiddie than hers—she's definitely of the innately serious-and-oh-so-better-'n-you category.

I thought the guy was a riot, but hey, that's just me.

Systematic jokes and irritable protests from Kankuro brought a few grins to the in-laws' faces, and at last I found myself relaxing, bit by bit, as I curled up in a squishy chair.

_Did you get what you wanted for Christmas, Sasuke?_ the memory floats up unbidden, and the light from the room fades as I watch the scene play out. The world bleaches gray.

_My family doesn't celebrate Christmas,_ the dull reply comes, too hurt and unexplainable to ten-year-old me.

_You don't?_

Sasuke's lower lip juts out a little, and he coldly turns away. _What'd I just say?_ he demands.

I fidget in place, right net to him, annoyed, dejected and more than a little miffed. _Why _**not?** I ask.

Sasuke's eyes close. _Because there is no Santa Clause._

I frown. _I know that!_ I kick a pebble. _But _every_body—_

_And there's no such thing as God!_

With that, my faith shattered and feelings hurt, he ran away.

My best friend, my childhood rival who I wound up on the floor with more often than not, wrestling and boxing like nothing else...and he ran away.

My hand fell to my side, then, the wooden sling clutched desperately between my fingers.

_I wanted to show you my new toy..._ I called, but Sasuke's gone now, too far from me too _fucking_ far gone to ever retrieve.

I sigh, and _wish_ there was a way to drag him back..._wish_I could just grab him—kicking and screaming, if need be—back into my arms.

Good god, why aren't I happy with how things _are?_

It could be worse. It could be a _lot_ worse.

I blink.

Gaara leans against the wall, his arm vaguely touching mine as we watch the family open gifts, as we listen to the crinkle of paper as everyone exchanged useless tributes of "affection."

I took Gaara's hand, pulled him closer, and wove my arms around his back. Heedless to the cloth around sensitive skin, I drew abstract signs all about. Breathing in his faintly sandy smell, I imagined the to of us, cream-and-honey alongside toasted-gold, our sweet, painful and almost nostalgic Sasuke...all sitting in a tree too tall to climb, nestled between branches that pulled us in.

For once, my redhead _didn't_ push me aside.

Content, amused, I let my impish smile overrun softer emotions, and _yanked_ my man towards the center, knocking him off balance as Temari motioned towards a piece of carpet clear of wrapping paper. The slender man recovered just in time, happening to save himself from a face full of Christmas tree.

"This is from me and Ryan," Temari tossed a packet over, and swiftly followed the action with more light-weight ammunition. "This is from your brother," the first landed in a bemused Gaara's arms, "That's from Jackie and Lynn, okay?"

Gaara, arms full of crinkling paper, offered a tentative smile.

Draping my arms around a "bored" Gaara, I wink. "You already _got_ yours from me," I teasingly kiss his ear, murmuring softly to avoid embarrassment. Louder, I say, "and your guys's from us have been opened."

Temari's smile widens a bit. "Hey, back up, kid." Without waiting for me to comprehend, she tosses more packets from nowhere at me, tinsel and ribbons flashing in the glittering string of Christmas lights, "or you'll get an extra present from me, sweet," the grin showed faintly pointed teeth, "a split lip."

Laughing, I stepped back to receive the gifts--_clpp!_-- with open arms. Beneath the paper, it's soft in my hands, and as I watch Gaara unwrap his, I slide one finger underneath a gently protruding flap.

"...thank you..." Gaara mumbles, and I glimpse over his shoulder a form clinging, cream-colored, thick shirt fashioned with a vague memory of middle eastern design.

Curious, I opened the biggest of mine—

—a thick set of cloth reminisant of Japanese kimono...a brilliant, leaf-colored emerald that went well with Gaara's soft colors.

Bemused, looking at Temari with respect, I nodded, saying, "Thanks."

Gaara's unwrapped the other two of his, and I start visibly. One round, simple hat—it reminds me of the French beret—matches his shirt, with a strip of emerald trim to accent his gorgeous eyes...

...and matching my sweater.

"That is _such_ a girlie thing to do..." I laugh, opening my other packets and examining an English golf-lookin' hat of similar make. "To make couples match?" I tease, and toss the bows back at the blonde girl.

She grins. "Hey, they _agreed_ to giving me money for your presents," she winked, "knowing that I'm _much_ better at matching your guys' tastes, anyways."

I blushed, and let Gaara open his last present...unsurprisingly, it's another matching thing—this time all emerald, with cream trim—a long, hand-woven scarf...the pattern falls like stardust...

...and mine's flow like leaves in the wind, subtle variations on the cream that make for an intricate little piece of craftsmanship.

Temari winked. "They were on sale," she drawls, too serious for my tastes, "so...you better wear 'em, boys."

Ryan snorts, and gestures to his own clothes—a complimentary match to Temari's. "She's serious, dude," he laughs.

I roll me eyes. "Geeze, Temari, thanks for making us look like fashion models."

Her laughter is brighter than bells.

The remainder of the afternoon goes on in comfortable quietness, watching an old movie and cuddling close to significant others with good graces—before I prod Gaara impatiently.

"...we gotta go," I say,

and they are left to

watch

as we bring

our

heavy, long and beautiful

bodies

up and out.

I take Gaara's hand, and we walk away...more silent than Sasuke and I had ever been...

I have to wonder, so I say, "...if you die..."

Gaara's footsteps stop, and for a moment I keep walking—'till his warm hand jerks me to a motionless stance. "...I won't." he says, quiet, still.

The clatter of wood on cement, and my eyes close.

"Don't fucking leave me behind, Gaara." I mutter, and we go off again.

You see, I don't think I could stand it...I don't deserve to lose _any_ more loved ones...I don't.

I

.._don't._

Sasuke is

warm and understanding and too soft for my memory, clinging to me like I'm some god-forsaken toy. He mewls Christmas greetings and birthday wishes in the same breath, a happy little smile on his uncomprehending face.

I sigh, wondering, _where the hell did you go, Sasuke?_

Gaara coughs lightly, and puts one hand on Sasuke's shoulder. "Sasuke," he murmurs,

Memory jarred. Spilt open like poorly-crafted glass.

Itachi stands close by, his lithe form shrouded in a heavy coat from the turn of the century. His face is smooth, expressionless, but his hands tremble—just a bit—as he hands a bawling Sasuke a perfectly wrapped gift...garnished with a pine sprig and piece of holly...

_Sasuke, _Itachi breathes,

"This is for you," Gaara mumbles, and a small box is pressed into waiting hands.

_This is for you._ Itachi continues.

Amazed, delighted, Sasuke coos quietly at the redhead. He takes a piece of the ribbon and dangles it from his fingers, reaching for Gaara's matching hair—

In my head, images of a smaller Sasuke come into focus.

The child stops, having just told _me_ about the uselessness of the Christian holiday, but he looks at his brother with huge, adoring eyes.

With one hand, he takes the holly and sprig of pine...pockets it.

"You're supposed to open it," Gaara mumbles, a touch of irritation in his deep, smooth voice.

Sasuke stares at him, uncomprehending.

I watch.

_Open it,_ Itachi bids, a small, almost invisible smile on his pale face.

Sasuke laughs a little, but the sound seems more of a sob than anything.

His fingers tremble as he opens it.

"Go on," Gaara urges, a touch of worry about him.

_For you, Sasuke._ Itachi repeats.

Sasuke's smile is soft, buried beneath a wall of darkness.

"It's okay..." Gaara murmurs, anxious now.

_Open it,_ Itachi says again, gesturing this time to the inner white box.

Sasuke's small fingers pull at the cardboard, and a faint whiff of blossoms drifts my way.

In front of Gaara and before me, Sasuke's lips tremble.

"Sasuke?"

_Sasuke,_ Itachi murmurs, _to you, I give a single...red...blossom. When it fades from this world, you will carry with you a shield of unbreakable make..._

The ten-year-old me whimpered a little, and as if sensing the intrusion on privacy, Itachi leaned forward...and whispered into Sasuke's ear—

In the room of blue too deep for a simple heart, Sasuke's eyes shut. He rocks back and forth, covering his ears with frail hands and _moans_ like he's been struck.

"Sasuke, it's okay—" Gaara steps back with a frustrated, half-angry look at me. He turns back to the mewling child, "Sasuke, I'm giving this to you because I—"

The breath I take is sharp. Painful.

"Don't." I say, walking forward in a dream.

I take the box—a chocolate rose in red foil—and shake it a little. It rattles in its prison of plastic, and I smile, tired and dead and wanting to return to my dreams.

"Sasuke." I say, quietly, "There aren't any strings on this," I mumble, "it's not a key, it's not a promise."

Sasuke stops shaking as the orderlies bustle into the room.

I move forward, pick up the kid—he's lost weight—and place him on the bed. "Sasuke," I repeat.

"Gaara is _not_ your brother."

A choked sob—

—was it me or him I can't tell—

...and a simple fold of hands.

Gaara and I are ushered out like rats from a church. I clutch at Gaara's hand and shake my head, his face is blank.

Finally, I say, "...you remember about Itachi..."

Gaara nods tightly.

I take a shuddering breath, "...he gave him a Christmas present once...

"...a single rose...

"wrapped in white and decorated with dead, fragrant branches.

"all dead, all cut, and he told Sasuke something..."

I know that it's better not knowing, what that man said...

Gaara puts a hand around me, and as we walk out together, he murmurs something soft and sweet—

—but it's not enough to cut the chill when the secretary calls, "Oh, Naruto! I'm glad you came by..." she smiles at me, warm and loving in her brown eyes and soft curls, "to think, that _awful_ family doesn't come by on _Christ_mas!"

I find myself laughing quietly.

She doesn't take note, continuing with a bitterly ironic smile, "they just sent a single piece of _cake_, of all things, with a note not to eat it all at once. Imagine that!" she shakes her head in sympathy for my Sasuke.

The smile hasn't faded when I tell her, "Sasuke isn't Christian," I begin, "he never was..."

Her ironic smile falters.

"The Japanese eat cake on Christmas," I continue, "...but they don't exchange gifts,

"it's considered a holiday for...

"...couples..."

Her eyes widen in surprise, and a look of understanding flashes in her kind eyes, "oh," she mumbles.

"Yeah," I reply, "...it gave me a whirl, too...growing up. I thought everybody celebrated Christmas."

Gaara tugs at my arm.

Outside, I breathe deeply. It's unusually warm for December, I know it, when there was heap-loads of snow not two weeks before. Enjoying the crisp breeze, I stop, put out my hands and _twirl_ like I hadn't a thought in my head. Childlike and mournful, I let out a low, soft croon—

—until I nearly fall—

—into Gaara's waiting arms.

I am loved.

...what more should a guy ask for?

My heart could answer for me, but the reply would be two-fold. Nothing's simple, nothing's clear cut. And the words would ring clear and loud in my silence-filled ears,

_my_

_Sasuke._

* * *

Happy (late) Christmas, Taise. You're very predictable in what you want for presents...but! Sorry I 'm late! I usually am...

Comments are really helpful...I get sore necks and headaches from this fic...

tbc...whenever Taise makes me...


	7. killing sunlight

**Story Summary:** A car crash can change everything. Worlds shift. Naruto is caught between decisions; to move on, or to salvage what he can from the past.

**This time: **as the Christian holidays die off, the coming of the New Year brings Naruto to Sasuke once again, this time with unexpected consequences.

**warnings:** long. angst. lots of allusions. dream sequence (one), and intruding memories. Child abuse. Cursing. Hints of Gaara + Naruto, and Naruto-abuse...poor dear...did I mention it's _long?_  
**disclaimer:** if I owned rights to Naruto...haha, not as many people would be fans!

* * *

_My Sasuke_  
**killing sunlight...**by Taes

* * *

New Year's Eve.

The morning was spent with my lost and breaking Sasuke, who would never know the difference between the old year and the new. It seemed almost wasted, that morning, but not because of what _happened._ More of what _was._

See, I came over at, I dunno, eight in the morning to "volunteer" on a project...remodeling the library and washing a hell-of-a-lot-of clothes. This was all well and good, as far as my boss was concerned, seeing they didn't need any night-time cashiers at the thrift shop on account of closing early. I had my own reasons for going, naturally, not being of the _charitable_ sort, per se, just of the _dedicated_ kind.

Of course, I just wanted to see Sasuke.

But you know doctors...therapists, shrinks, masters of their profession by a ten-year-long ordeal called school. Yeah, them? They don't like any kind of well-received, well-controlled contact with the outside world for their patients...see, doctors think if they let the real world into their neat and tidy little institutions, the madness might follow the poor visitors home, or worse yet, an unexpected visit might "disturb" a "recovering" patient.

Well, _fuck_ that, damn it...

...'cause there are sweet tempered nurses, who've lived their ten years or more in the real world, living and breathing hospital or volunteer work like only saints can. They're of another breed entirely, fortunately for me...

...see, they're sympa_the_tic, and they're nice as anything and sweet as birds...

Yeah, I like nurses a lot better than I like the damn doctors.

So, yeah. I came in the scheduled time, giving the lady at the desk a full-fledged wink upon my arrival.

The secretary, I finally _did_ get to know her, despite my early misgivings. And the nurses really do like guys who're regular and nice, even when they're strange ones like me, with a few whacked up problems gone unspoken for courtesy's sake.

So anyways, the secretary says, quick as you please, "Oh, _Mis-tah_ Naruto," with well-emphasized, mostly exaggerated dignity, "I was expecting you, sir," and the laughter sparkles in her voice.

It makes me wonder, how dull answering phones and making appointments and crap can get...but I'm on the verge of laughter alongside her as I reply, "Yes, m'dear, the _books_ await me." A huge smile, all teeth and brightly white of pearl...

We share small smiles next, as I pin a visitor's pass on my dress-up shirt. I pull down my wide-brimmed hat and tighten my long coat...ya know, I wanted to make Sasuke smile, okay? So I've gotten together this "gentleman" costume to box up books and tell old stories.

In the record-books and all, I've been put down as a volunteer, nat'tra'lly, but anyone who knows me won't be surprised to see me strolling down the patients' halls, a small bouquet in hand and a pretty red box bulging from a pocket. Despite it being long 'fore visiting hours, despite stupid rules against non-family members, I'm considered closer to Sasuke 'n his blood...and a hell-uv-a lot more welcome.

As I stroll along the patient corridors, my mind takes a detour down memory's winding alleyways. In my mind's eye, I see the brightly decorated strings of flower and straw, quiet little papers with bold, brilliant script in a foreign, beautiful tongue I've never really known.

_It's calligraphy,_ Sasuke told me with a frown, _to welcome the new year or something, _his childish voice tries for boredom, but I hear the excitement and resentment hiding in his cute eyes.

_Itachi wrote it,_ he continues solemnly, _Mama said we'd put mine up, too, as soon as I got good enough..._ a sulky, not angry expression flickered behind his eyes, but something deeper lurked beneath a child's pride as he exclaimed, _look!_ as if to discard any doubt I had about his genius, _mine is on the kitchen window...where mama can see it every day,_ he imparted with some measure of happiness.

I had to wonder..._Sasuke, will anyone_ **else**_ be able to see?_

My footsteps clicked on the stone tiles, clearly announcing my presence in the hospital wing. I called out anyways, not wanting to startle my soft kitten of an ex, "A very happy New Year's Eve to you, Sas—" I began—

—and stopped.

On the door, into the threshold, a mother's touch, a woman's grace was gently woven into a _delicately_ fashioned ornament of woven paper or cloth—I couldn't tell which it was—at the center of the door, the same brilliant bold script of my memory...alongside a curious array of red and white...

Japan's colors, some would say, but that's not it...

The mark of an esteemed and noble clan, the _Uchiha_, descendents of ninja or samurai I couldn't recall.

A quiet voice greets me, "ahhh, Naruto," and mournful eyes meet mine, "I wondered if we'd see you..."

The broken softness, the shallow smile and the depthless black eyes...

I almost expected to see _Itachi_ again, throat bared and chest bloody...he, the silent, stoic one, bearing a grim, silent and forgiving frown, empty eyes and hardening skin against the foul, rotten stench in heavy summer's air...

fallen on a brother's blade like

too bloody, too

raw

a sliver of meat

under a butcher's knife and

oh-so

white

hands.

I shook my head, wavered a little, and mumbled, "uhhh...happy almost new year..." I began, and rocked on my feet, disturbed by a memory I'd almost convinced myself I didn't have, "I brought these," I say clumsily, sounding foolish even to my own ears, "for Sasuke...but..."

hesitate and they kill you

"maybe you could help me arrange them?"

Fugaku, the name of Sasuke's father flies into my head unexpectedly, a memory drudged up from before Itachi's murder or afterwards, I couldn't tell. The man offers a nod of thanks, dressed—as always—a figure of the past and great importance. The man demands a sort of uncalled-for sort of reverence that few priests would receive... "Naruto," he says softly.

I can hear it in his voice; he's not yet forgiven me...for finding his eldest dead.

I nod back, and pull out the red box, turning to my love of lost-time, "Sasuke," I smile softly, and tip my hat to the drifting, falling boy.

In an instant, I can see what's wrong with him, even if his parents can't. Any one of the nurses could tell me he's "dissociating," but...that's an injustice. He's free in his head, just a

fly away me

lost in no time but that which dreams offer, hiding even his smile from the clouds.

But he'll come back...for me. If I ask him to, he'll come, swift and silent and beautiful, a mewl on soft lips.

"Come on, sweetie...you've got visitors..." I proffer the red box with tinsel, and hope.

His eyes flash, to me, and he slowly turns his head...a quiet, child-like smile in his eyes while lips curve downwards in a tiny whimper.

Mixed reactions make me bite my lip. "Here," I mumble, and move the box to his hands, "open it up, see what's inside."

Apparently this is more than some people can stand.

Fugaku scoffs. "Stop treating him like a child," he commands. _"That's_ the reason he's gone _on_with this damn façade so long!" He snarls deeply, _"you_ reward him for it!"

I turn, scowl at the older man, and look briefly to Sasuke's mother, Mikoto—I can't even remember hearing her name mentioned, except when it breezed on Itachi's lips, years past...

And it occurs to me...that guy had love for no one but his kid brother.

Her face is clear, expressionless, but her eyes still weep.

I glower again at the father, saying, "quit being such a behaviorist!" I can feel my lips turn upwards, "you _know_ that crap doesn't do _shit_ for him!"

Mikoto cries out softly, "Naruto," she pleads, the voice of a doll, "don't shout...don't curse. You're scaring him." Her voice is even, soft, almost broken.

I turn my gaze back on my sweetheart, and sure enough, he's quivering like a toddler, like a flower.

My anger evaporates in an instant, and I move to place one hand on his shoulder, "shhh, sweetie, it's okay..." I begin, and start talking, eager to distract, "look, see how busy your mom 'n dad've been? All these New Year's decorations, just for you! There's...ah, mostly food, isn't there...?"

Vaguely, I remember Sasuke telling me in an exasperated tone, that the new year is about celebration, feasting, and family bonds..._mostly, people get drunk, eat too many good things, and play _hanafuda_, a Japanese card game that becomes like poker in my family..._

"Hmm." I pause a second before saying, "well, there's that stack of white disk-things to make a snowman, see, with that little orange for a hea—"

"—_mochi,_" Mikoto interrupts, "Rice cakes. They're offerings for a good new year..." her voice is smooth, "topped with a sweet _mikan,_ a mandarin orange," her voice was quiet still, almost like a ghost.

"Oh." I replied, coughing a little. "Um..." lost for words. "So you've even got some sparkling-grape juice and a really, really _big_ ol' _bento," a Japanese boxed lunch,_ "with shrimp and noodles—"

"That's _soba._ For long life," the irritated Fugaku clarified. Our mutual determination to ignore each other seemed to have faded, and his voice was bitter. I _know_ the damn guy would rather _bury_ his son, not _'help him behave like an insolent toddler.'_

My frown tightens, and I look around again. Finally, my eyes catch on a tattered bit of so-called "rice paper"—it's actually a thin fiber, having nothing to do with rice, Itachi told me once when I mentioned it—and a messy black basin of spilled ink.

I look to Mikoto with a wordless question hiding in my eyes.

Her eyes flicker to Sasuke.

Black ink stains slender fingers, and my expression softens. "Here," I mumble thickly, emotion caught in my voice. "Let's get you cleaned up..."

Fugaku's smile could almost be creepy... "On and on you go, babying him. You think you help!" he snarls, pained and deadened by his honorless _loss_ of sons. "He's a worthless piece of shit—"

_"—dear—"_ Mikoto pleads, wringing her dainty hands...hands like white birds.

"—hiding from the consequences of his actions." He paced absently in the small confines, "feeding off us, our hospitality, gloating about the removal of a _true_ Uchiha—"

"—shut up!" I hiss, careful not to raise my voice and get an orderly in here. "Just get out!" I command, rising to my feet, threatening. _"We're_ arranging flowers—" out of the corner of my eye, I see the red tinsel present, forgotten on the bed, "—and _we're_ going to love and _cherish_ him." I nod at the blankly staring slip of a human beside me, "no matter

"what."

the word closes my mouth and dries my throat, like some bitterly acidic fruit

I look pleadingly at Mikoto, my back to her husband, and hope she'll hold up my promise.

Head bowed, hair hiding her pretty face—so like Sasuke's, like Itachi's—she trembles silently, and takes the long-stemmed bouquet and exits...

My shoulders slump.

I don't know what to say.

Fugaku looks at me—as I stare out the door, away from him—with his eyes fixed between my shoulder-blades or at the base of my neck, it's hard to say. "You should leave his restor_a_tion to the professionals." His voice is quiet, commanding. "You'll only screw things up."

There is quiet between us.

Mikoto returns a few minutes later, to my surprise. She hadn't left for good, as I'd suspected. Her mouth is tightly set, and she clutches three ceramic vases to her chest. As she sets each one on the small desk to the side, I realize each is bigger than the last, but three all are short and squat, with a small grid of spoked metal on which a flower might be placed.

I don't know where she could have found those surely oriental plant-holders, and I try to meet her gaze, try to convey gratitude, but only amazement carries through my eyes.

"Sasuke," her voice is gentle but strangely strong, redolent of the Uchiha patriarch. "You'll need to water these every morning up to here..." she gestures lightly to a line invisible to me from my vantage point, "and you'll need to pull the dead leaves or petals off with time..." she demonstrates twice, letting him practice on the less-than pristine bundle I'd grabbed from the local grocery.

My face flushes, but no one notices, save maybe Fugaku...and _his_ quiet dissatisfaction seems inwardly poised after all...

We learn the art of flower arranging from a woman with too much time to practice it, and no one to show who'd understand...lost in a civilized world where kimono are eccentric yet odd sleep-garments meant for movies, not as lovingly passed down treasures.

I try to follow and think it through, but my arrangement is a bit jumbled, and too sparse for the large pot, while Mikoto smiles anyways...but her _attention_ is for Sasuke.

Parts of his art..._parts_ of it are beautiful...exquisite, even. But the edges are unskillfully propped up, leaned against one another and split wide up the flowers' fragile stems...it's almost like a snapshot of his crumbling mental state.

Depressing, and hardly reminiscent of the young man he _used_ to be...

Finally, the task is done...and Mikoto's soft, soul-weary voice bids, "happy new year..." and a string of swift, demure words in Japanese.

Sasuke falls back in a stupor, and his father shakes him a bit, with cold, curt words in a tongue I can't understand.

My mouth goes dry, and slowly, I move to my lost love...put an arm around him as his parents fade into the distance...and wish I could press my lips on his, open his eyes and see a flaming scarlet anger of bastardly pride...

Instead, I put my hat on his head, mumbling, "You an' me've got a date, sweetie...you, me, an' the lovely books..."

Beneath the wide brim, Sasuke's eyes close with pleasure while a quiet and simple smile adorns sweet lips. He looks like a child, and he holds my hand as such...

After a minute, I tug my hands free and stuff them in pockets, trying to console myself with thoughts of sea-green eyes and blood-red hair...

...but Sasuke's laughter pulls me back anyways, and I'm back in the past again, walking to school in a noisy argument with my best friend, talking crassly about what kind of teachers our lousy school possessed.

His smile infiltrates my mind, and for a while, I'm lost in it...just walking down the hall like an eerie specter of the past...when we reach the hospital library, the collection of dusty tomes, thin and thick, bright and dull.

It's enough to make Sasuke's bare feet stop that charming _ptt k!_ of callused skin sticking to the stone tile. He looks blankly from books to shelves to chairs, and his small hands tighten a little as his precious companions— bound in leather, cloth and plastic-coated paper— were packed into boxes while shelves were pushed laboriously into an out-of-the-way corner, or into the hall.

His lower lip trembled just before his hands fell, slack, and his expression loosened to that of a boy lost to dreams.

I sigh, touch his shoulders and steer him to a squishy armchair. "Stay here," I tell him sternly, sure he'll listen, certain he's got nowhere to go. I pick myself up then, and start off towards a tall guy, dark of skin and hair, with soft eyes like coffee-colored ice cream...though almost like coal when he's mad or serious, but a sparkling toffee-spiced cappuccino in the sunlight.

When I first met the guy, his hair was long, down to his shoulders and sectioned almost like dreads, but maybe they were those extensions most've my black friends are fond of—with the exception of a sweet, intelligent-eyed girl with shorer hair 'n _me_ and a love for men's shorts even in January...

"Hey, Karega!" I call out with a huge smile, a sparkle in my eyes that matches his, "whas'up, man?"

He laughs appreciatively, turning away from his painter's work with a ready smile. "Oh, Naruto-my-man!" he grins wider than even me, "ahhhh, you know, yeah? Not much!" quick laughter swallows any further comment before his lips catch up with his quick-mind, "We've got this whole half tarped and ready for a clean up! Ex_ci_ting, huh?" his warm eyes scan the room, catch sight of a small Sasuke, and he lightly touches my forehead, no doubt staining my hair with the same pale yellow paint of the walls, "and you know the rules, m'old friend!" his laughter colors his words playfully, "I'm 'Mister Cooper' in fron'na the patients, okay? And I'll return the favor by calling you—"

"—'Mister Uzumaki,'" I chorused alongside him, "yeah, I know," I smile vaguely, "so, where do you want me?" I ask, swinging my arms wide, as if to embrace the paint-spattered man.

Karega laughs again, as easy-going a nurse as anyone I've ever had the fortune to meet. His eyes sweep down my frame, and he shakes his head. "Geeze, man, you look like you've come in from a _cos_tume ball 'r somethin'!" he shakes his head, "my girlfriend made _sure_ I wore my least fav'rite scrubs, and wha'd you come in?" bright laughter seems to pull me in closer.

I can feel heat coming to my cheeks, but I cover easily with a sharp wink as I twirl in my long overcoat. "See, _my_ boyfriend knows I've got a shit-load of clothes, so he doesn't care what I wear," I wag my finger in Karega's face, continuing, "and it's all thrift-store stuff _any_ways, so it's not exactly irreplaceable."

His smile softens, and he looks briefly to the kid I've left in a chair..."yeah..." he mumbles, "your boyfriend _wouldn't_ mind..." a small, sad smile.

I have to wonder which boy he _thinks_ I'm talking about.

"Why don't you box up books, nevertheless?" Karega suggests mildly, no doubt thinking of ways to help loveable, straying Sasuke find his way out-of-a self-imposed hell...

I retreat with a cheerful wave, going back to my sweet Sasuke with an armload of collapsed boxes and a roll of packing tape.

Sasuke hadn't moved. His hair disguised his face—and I was reminded briefly of his fair mother—while pale lips pressed into an unreadable frown.

I drop my load, pocket the tape, and put my arms around the boy, "hey, m'man..." I mumble, bashful all the sudden, "we're gonna put some of these books away, okay? We'll box up a few and move 'em into the hall, understand?"

No change of expression.

I release him with a frown, and slowly assemble the first of the boxes. The cardboard itself's not big, seeing that books are damn heavy...but it's big enough to require some shifting for a guy like me. I scribble on the box the name, _Alan Moore_ on the right, to denote which section of the library I was subjecting to imprisonment.

"So," I murmur quietly, trying to get the Uchiha clan out of my head. "I ever tell you the story of Peter Pan?"

No flicker of recognition for me. No smile to ease my hurt.

I press on anyways, hoping to find a spark of a kid I used to know. "So, Sasuke-m'dear...in all the world, there's only one boy who will never grow up...and _his_ name is Peter." I smile softly, just before a grunt of exertion tears my lips, and subsequently, my words. "Peter Pan..." I grin into the armload of books.

"He was just a little, little boy, really, Golden hair and green eyes, the perfect imp, with a fairy-partner called Tinkerbell, to boot."

_Thdddd,_ the books fall into the cardboard easily while I neatly squish the tomes into clearly distinguishable rows, spine up so the titles can be read.

I steal a glance at my lostling, but he's looking at his hands again...

With a sigh, I begin to relate the tale, taking great pleasure in description of flight, and a little girl called Wendy, who the ill-named "lost" boys wanted as a mother...

...but those adventuring brats weren't really _lost._ Not like some people...not like _him._

Not like my Sasuke, who doesn't move an inch to show he's listening, who sits, more still than a statue, glazed eyes under a borrowed hat...and I can't help it. My patience

snaps.

My voice is not my own as the words fill me, dripping like rain from an unknown source, and I clear my throat anxiously, ready to begin. "So this is the story she tells them, those poorly dressed kids of bratish disposition and greedy, begging hands..." my eyes have lost track of the brightly lit, paint-smelling atmosphere, and my words tumble against each other in my hurry to _get them out._

I can feel my breath catch, my eyes fill.

"Mister Fox."

The story is partially remembered from my childhood, when one of my foster-sibs took me and her friends into the basement, situated dully on old, dusty mattresses that we sometimes played on, and it was _her_ voice that scraped my throat. "Well Lady Mary was young, and _Lady_ Mary was fair...with more suitors than she could count on the fingers of both hands."

In my memory, the basement light rocked back and forth, a poorly fastened thing with a playful manner that seemed to me quite ominous.

My memory failed me, so grasping for words, I sought out something more suitable, something that might _shake_ my love up and out of the stupor he'd slipped into. "She was a quiet, skillful lady of keen wits and

"sharp

"senses...and _to_ her there was a certain English gentleman," my tongue caught in my throat, choking me, so that the lack of air left me near blind and aching with too much weight, "...whose pale blond hair and ice-blue eyes spoke of cool boredom almost unheard of in good countrymen's blood."

Straight from my memory.

_This figure, this slight and slender waif of a man, he's old. Far older than me or mine, older than anyone I've seen in a long time...but his skin is young...his eyes, clear, but watered down. Long, fair and smooth hair frames his doll-like face, and a twisted, tilted_

_smile_

_adorns the humorless mask he passes for a face._

"His voice was a careful drawl, his smile never faltered, and his fingers _ckkkt_ed on the table, like petrified wood on cut and polished lumber." The story-book figure was replaced with my mystery-watcher...the flat man put to words so that I might startle, scare, distract.

But Sasuke doesn't flinch.

My voice is low, near the pit of my range, and softly enunciated words alone are the keys to the riddle of my speech. "The man treated everyone as though they had invisible wires attached to their limbs, and _he_ alone had the capacity to make the

"puppets

"dance."

Sasuke looked at me, now, but I was too far gone to realize it.

My voice trembled as I related the tale that had left me shivering, in that basement of old. "'My sweet, my treasure...' the words are lovely on his lips, and roll off like so much dew on a leaf. 'Tell us a tale...bring some light to our monotonous, deadened lives...'"

The books thudded into their cardboard grave, and I swiftly assembled another, not wanting to leave for the hall just yet.

The words came easily, just as my foster sister's had to a seven and eight-year-old audience, she at a lofty thirteen.

My voice was softer still, "Lady Mary replied with a smooth nod of head, as though on cue from the puppeteer. 'As you wish, my dear...my darling Mister Fox...I shall tell you of a dream I had, lost in the cold, empty nights of yore.' Her sweet voice was like ice, but the company took no notice.

"Huntsmen all, they chuckled gruffly, offering lewd remarks as to what a young damsel could do to fill her _nights."_

Sasuke's breath came short, and his little hands trembled.

"The lady smiled, a thin, hard-to-see wire attached to her full, luscious lips. 'In my dream, love, I received an invitation from you...to journey to your house and at last see the sights.' She ducked her head behind a wave of chestnut curls, embarrassed.

"'Oh, the sights I could show you!' Mister Fox replied, licking his lips and smoothing his pale, white-gold hair without removing icy eyes from

"faintly blushing

"red

"cheeks.

"Once again, the company laughed with dark, red-tinged thoughts. Huntsmen, you see, are very cruel, and their lives are driven by dirty thoughts unsuitable for polite company. But Lady Mary enjoyed their tales, or perhaps the protection they offered, so she kept them close by.

"The pretty Lady smiled behind pale fingers, saying, 'Indeed,' her laughter was cool, like the ringing of church bells...funeral charms... 'm'lord found his choice in the easiest of manners, to

"cut

"the throat of a sow, a carelessly fattened pig grown large, and mark the path most simply for his blushing bride-to-be.'

"Mister Fox's eyes widened, and he tilted his head to the side, silent amusement in curiously large eyes. 'Oh,' he murmured with a simple, provocative grin, 'and in your dream,' his voice was cold, like bone too-long weathered, 'you found my house without

"'difficulty?'

"The girl smiled, nodded, and spoke again—"

"—but" the voice interrupted, and it took me only an instant to realize who spoke.

My heart slowed, my head spun.

Sasuke's voice was cold, dead, and a streak of blood-colored anger tinged his words, "But it is not so, and it was not so." He laughed, dark and cruel, a fell shadow across his neck and stealing upon gorgeous features, "...and God forbid it should be so..."

I turn to look at him, mouth slightly open. "Sasuke," I say tentatively, "you know this story—?"

His voice is grim, tight, and hoarse against too soft a throat, "—in the last of the rooms, beyond the corridor with its ghastly message—_be bold, be bold, but not too bold_

_"lest your heart's blood_

_"should run cold_—she found a slaughtered man, red eyes to match the blood—"

My stomach fell, my eyes widened and my head felt too heavy, too cold. I clutch at the bookshelf to keep myself standing, unaware even as I speak, "...a warrior's blade through his stomach, across his throat, the blood soils even the costly _tatami_ mat, seeping through the fibers like only liquid can...leaving a dark, blackened and ugly stain where too-white flesh meets the ground,

"and everything goes red, red, red like the lie of the blood on the _other's_ hands, screaming like a lost child and like I'd _betrayed_ him for not—"

A quiet mewl broke the spell, and I look up hurriedly, to see tears filling black eyes, white skin gone translucent in shock or fear, I can't tell.

God, I thought I'd buried that memory...I never meant to say it...to tell _anyone_ that I saw a corpse with a lovely little frown and smelling of death, decay and

broken promises.

I take Sasuke by the hand, and without saying a thing to Karega, I leave the library for brighter rooms...

"How's the story end?" Sasuke asks, quiet, afraid.

I laugh, low, "Mister Fox is a murderer, and the huntsmen cut him to pieces..." I think of my foster-sister, her, me and a friend on the dusty old mattress.

_"'And it served him very well right.'" _I quoted.

Sasuke leaned into me on our way to the laundry...murmuring, "oh," like a small child.

Eventually, I breathe easier.

...I can outrun the triggers...

...distract my eyes with graceful figures and small tasks...

...but I can never rid myself of that god-awful

_smell.

* * *

_

My charity-work ended with a couple of hours of laundry, coddling a sweet-tempered lostling who seemed to have forgotten his brief outburst, and trying to bury phantom-senses with coffee, detergent, and multiple washings of hands.

Eventually, Karega came by to see how I was doing...I jumped at my name on his lips, and whirled around too quickly...so he might have guessed.

I doubt it, though. He's got enough on his mind.

Instead of returning home, I head for Gaara's, seeking out the more luxurious apartment and his strong hands...and, of course, not wanting to break a promise I'd made the evening before...

I began to strip as soon as Gaara's heavy door _ckkd_ behind me, tossing aside the overcoat, vest, shirt, shoes and socks before hastily unbuttoning pants, shedding myself of the cold-stiffened layers with a feverish need to get _warm._

_Sasuke..._ I thought, not hearing Gaara call out at me, asking about my day, no doubt. _Why can't I just for_**get?**

I realized my boyfriend was in residence just as he stepped into my line of vision.

"Naruto," Gaara frowned, putting warm hands around my cold skin. "You're cold." He noted, and made as though to pull me closer.

"Bath?" I pleaded, turning around to wrap him in my arms...feeling his soft hair between my fingers and relishing in the texture.

He nods slowly, saying, "I'll get your clothes..." a pause. "...and I'll brush your hair when you're done, if you'd like."

A small smile twitched at my lips, and my eyes—at last!—closed. Some of the tightness melted away, and I nodded, grateful. "Absolutely," I grinned...and he pushed me behind a pair of white doors and into a bath large enough o spell _luxury_ to a poor kid like me...

Ya know, growing up, I'd never been allowed such a 'womanish' treat...

Laughing, I removed the rest of my clothes, calling, "I'll be out in a little while,"

...to which he replied, "no. Take your time," no change of pitch signified a switch of emotion, but I sensed he was preparing himself for meditation...the closest the bastard seemed to _get_ to sleep.

First, I decided, a shower...to cleanse myself of dirt and sweat—

—_and blood,_ the thought came unbidden, but I brushed it aside as easily as I drew the plastic-lined curtain.

The water was cold, at first, chilling me to the bone and offering no hope of warmth...I'd forgotten to let the faucet purge itself of icy liquid, so it vomited frosty water on _me_ with a vengeance.

I shivered, thinking to myself of another shower, surely this large, and the equally intimidating woman it contained.

In my memory, Sarah sang sweetly, her voice echoing down the large, empty home where children had once lived... grown then, the aging wife of a traveling businessman, she'd felt useless, without any kind of fulfillment in her life...so she and her husband, Bill, I think, agreed to foster me...a kid of eight, and in I'd come, like a fox-kit instead of a fluttering chick.

Sarah hated me instantly...

...every one of those state-picked, too-well-paid _families_ did.

I wasn't well-behaved, smart, or charming like _her_ kids. I could care less about football, acting or TV...preferring instead to play with ninja dolls or make up my own games, pretending to be a magnificent _shinobi_ who everyone looked up to, loved, and secretly wanted to _be._

Her lack of imagination put me off at first, but I thought maybe that melancholy melody was meant for _me..._ her shower-tune meant as a sweet lullaby she'd never been able to express before.

In the meantime, the hot water burned my skin, prickling like needles on tender flesh, but I'm slow to turn off the heat.

_Mama?_ I called, quiet.

She shrieked when I opened the door to the bath, screaming at me to _close it! Get out of here!_

And as I smooth shampoo scented of lavender-and-spice—maybe Temari picked it out for her little brother, because I can't imagine him wanting it—another memory bleeds into the last...

Surely the baths had been different, but years later, I couldn't distinguish between the two. I'd just been transferred—for the last time—to a new family...and now, the two rooms are identical in recollection, even the singing that lured me closer bearing the same mysterious tune...though Sally, a younger, fatter mother of high-school aged kids, liked classic _rock_ rather than classical.

_Naruto honey,_ her voice is nasal, grating on my ears as

in reality, I lather vanilla-and-brown-sugar scented body soap into my skin...thinking lazily that my Christmas-gift to Gaara was used more than the sweet-pea body-wash someone else had given him...

_can you bring me my Pepsi, darling? I think it's on the stairs..._ her voice is muffled by the white doors, and I can hear-- _could_ hear—the churn of water as she flipped the pages of the latest teen magazine...

Damn Sally. Always wanting to be younger than she really was...to be 'hip,' or beautiful like the girlfriends her boys brought home.

_Can't you get it?_ I complained from the hall, remembering the previous foster mother, Sarah's embarrassment and horror at living with a "peeping Tom."

_I'm in the _**bath,** /i Naruto...I can't track water everywhere/i she called back.

Irritated, I retrieved her glass of cola, opened the doors with my eyes squeezed shut. _Fine!_ I said to the self-induced darkness, _I'll put it on the counter, and you can get water on your rug._ I began, oblivious to her laughter and well aware of my red cheeks.

_Don't be silly, Naruto-baby! I'm your _mother_ now, of course you can _**hand**_it to me, like a good little boy, hmm?_

When I opened my left eye—just a peak—I saw a red mound of flesh, barely covered by foamy bubbles..._Here,_ I squeaked, and the ice-cubes clattered against each other as I shoved the drink into her hands.

_There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?_ she chuckled. _It's just like the pool, right? No harm done._

Except there, I could see the brown circles of her nipples, the heavy sags in her flesh and too-round limbs with hints of black, curly hair between her legs...all beneath the white foam of bubble-gum smelling _soap._

In real time, I tilt my head backwards to feel the falling water, open my mouth and cleanse it of the foul taste brought on by nasty memories.

Sometimes, I gotta wonder if it was _that_ old hag who turned me off women...

She, who constantly brought me into the bath while she was naked, daring me to comment on her developed body...slowly losing the bubbles while I turned steadily _redder_ by each encounter.

Her family put up with me 'till my high-school ended, no doubt thanks to dear ol' Sal and her piteous cries to _leave the kid alone, he's never known better!_ as I started dating a boy more popular than any of their sons had ever been...

But I was _outta_ there to room with Sasuke as soon as I had my diploma, with my boyfriend, rival and best man 'till...

...a bloody _car_ crash.

Shit. That sounds like some cheesy novel's excuse for a plot, if you ask me...

Sally...god, I hate her.

I scrub my skin thoroughly as I think.

She used to ask me to rub this "icy-hot" cream into her back, in order to get rid of shoulder aches or what when she'd been working too hard...with her, moaning just lightly as I pressed my knuckles into her stiff muscles or stepped lightly on her back.

It's a wonder I'm not more fucked up than Sasuke is...

Slowly, I sink to my knees, and plug the drain...

Cleaning up first, _then_ relaxing into hot water...that's a habit I picked up from the Uchiha family. I spent the night there, once, when their parents had left for unexplainable business...

It had seemed strange, at the time, for all of us to go into the strangely designed shower-bath, but neither Sasuke _nor_ Itachi mentioned it, so I brushed it off—rightly, as research later showed it—to be a cultural thing.

As I stepped into the fully tiled, faintly slanted room, I noticed there was a drain at the corner, between the bath and next to two plastic stools. The shower-head was attached to the wall, with no curtain, just the same frosted-glass door the whole place was enclosed in. The bath—or at least that's what I assumed it was—had been covered with a plastic cover, to keep the heat in, or the dust out, I wasn't sure.

Itachi's eyes were black, his face void of expression, even as he instructed me to stay out of the small pool..._shower first, then rinse,_ he admonished, nodding at the plastic bowl meant for a pail, _then we'll relax in the water._

_Together?_ I asked, amazed.

Sasuke laughed at my expression while Itachi nodded, and finally, I gave up on tension.

My best friend—eight years old, like me—taught me what Itachi meant while squirting me with soap or shampoo, and virtually playing all over to 'attack' me with a warm shower...

Presently, "Gaara..." I call out, eager to clear my head of more _useless_ memories. The warm water had filled the tub up to my ears, laying down, and I could barely hear anything.

His voice was muffled by water and doors, "yes?"

I don't know how I understood. I blinked, having expected him to walk in as casually as Itachi might have.

"...do you wanna come in?" I tried again, and immediately wished he had a tub big enough to _comfortably_ admit the two of us.

The door opened, and a pajama-clad, faintly smiling Gaara walked over...he rolled up his sleeves and dipped his hands into the water to trace circles in my pinkening skin.

I thought of Sasuke, and wanted to _hold_ someone so badly my fingers shook...so I found myself sitting up, the downfall of harsh, hot water filling my ears as the faucet attempted to drown out all life.

I switched it off.

Looked at Gaara, and _pulled_ with all my might.

The resounding wave of water covered his indignant surprise, and I wrestled him onto his side, pulled him close, and felt the warm folds of wet cotton...I collapsed on his strong arms and bubbled into the warmth.

"Owww..." I say after a while... "my arms _hurt..."_

Gaara, remembering my schedule more clearly than me, it seems, replies, "Good," with a quiet, _"that's_ because lifting clothes all day's more strenuous than one might believe."

Silence, except for sloshing of water.

Then Gaara spoke up again, splitting the silence as easily as one breaks glass. "You got my clothes _wet."_

My smile could have cracked ice. "...who said you needed clothes, hmm?"

Laughing, I got out of the water, pulled him and his clothes off, and toweled the two of us semi-dry...and we managed to distract each other from blood-filled thoughts...with massages, kisses, and soft embraces...

At last, we drift to sleep in each other's arms.

* * *

My eyes fluttered open with the dawn, and I woke with the happy realization that I was not alone...that someone'd wrapped me in strong arms while simultaneously burying their head in the crook of my neck, finding soft comfort there, no doubt.

Stirring quietly, I stretched a little, fumbling for the light by my bed—

—but a husky, smoke-filled voice stopped me. "Don't." The tones were too rich to be Gaara's, too deep and too seductively full of emotion.

My throat tightened, eyes wide with disbelief. "Sasuke?" I mumble, and pull the black-haired man's face into the soft light of dawn. _"Sasuke?"_

He laughs at me, scornful and amused, but not without a certain sweetness, a soft love no one but me can see. Arrogance sets his features apart from the core, and similar pride keeps his arms around me, where dislike or hatred would have them snake away.

"Expecting someone else?" he asks wryly, and at last pushes away to tilt his head in a clear show of deference to such a thought, but I saw something sharp and angry flash in my lover's eyes.

Awed, I shake my head, touch my lips to his cool skin, and find warmth there—he is no phantom, no dream. "You're...you..."

His laughter surprises me, irritates me, and tells me how _strongly_ I've missed the guy's arrogant, bastardly princelyness. "I see," he remarks dryly, touching my cheek and pushing aside a gold lock of hair I hadn't felt, hadn't seen.

I whacked him sharply on the head, eliciting a curse muffled by the stillness of the air—I dared not breathe—and heightened by Sasuke's confusion.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded, eloquently slanted eyes sharp with annoyance. _"You're_ the one waking up with another person's na—"

I lean in, take his face in one hand, and kiss soft lips until his trembling mouth opens. Slide past white teeth to touch a rough, warm tongue, while claiming it as my own.

When we break apart, amusement dances in Sasuke's eyes, after that he remarks, "well, _some_thing's up with you..."

Thrilled, ecstatic even, I pull him close, trying to mask my harsh breathing and closing throat with laughter. But I can't wipe _all_ traces of exhausted, relieved tears away.

Sasuke sits up, pulls me into his lap while I protest against the evidence of my weakness.

"Hey," he murmurs, _"hey,"_ sharper now, rocking me back and forth like I've seen do to _himself_, time and time again at the hospital...

"Sasuke..." I breathe. "Don't you _ever_ fucking _leave_ me again..." my voice was meant to be commanding, stern even, but there's too much pain for that. "Or I'll break every bone in your body..." my voice quavers as I shake my head violently, trying to dispel a tension-induced headache.

Baffled, but trying not to show it, Sasuke pushes me back a little, a small frown adorning porcelain features. "What happened?"

I shake my head violently, mumbling, "it's stupid...just a dream...a really long, damningly real _dream."_

Sasuke scoffs, and rolls his eyes. "So that's why you're such a wreck?"

My breath catches in my throat, and a sob comes out like a hiccup. I glower at him, not wanting to explain, but he draws it out of me with careful smiles, warm, wet kisses and a hunger for answers that chills me...

Finally, we lay together, entangled, quiet, and simply _entranced._ I'm happy, content, even, and in the back of my mind, I dread morning's eventual peak...and outside commitments.

My stomach growls before I'm ready to leave, but embarrassed, I bite at his ear, playing at amusement. "Wha'd'you want f'r breakfast?" I tease.

Sasuke smiles against my treatment, and I have to smirk back at him.

"Not yet..." he breathes, moaning a little. "I don't want to leave...I've still gotta sort out what you said," he shakes his head, and black hair swishes in the air. "I can't believe I'd _murder_ Itachi..."

Annoyed, I half-close my eyes and turn away. "You have to admit, Sasuke...that...detailed...a dream's damn _freaky. _But it doesn't mean anything."

Something pulls at my consciousness, but I push it aside as Sasuke tightens his embrace.

"Don't worry. It's just a dream..." he murmurs again, nuzzling into the crook of my neck he's so fond of...

I moan softly, and stroke his smooth, Asian hair.

Beside me, Sasuke muses, "but why would I _kill_ Ita—"

My eyes flicker. "Don't.

"I don't wanna _think_ about it—"

Sasuke shrugs, and experimentally tickles my lower stomach, just to hear me laugh and groan a little. "...mmm..." Sasuke breathes, "I like that noise..."

Playful touches and a deep, heartwarming massage ease me out of the anxious state, and I press my lips against his cheek, branding him with a warm kiss. Sasuke rises to the challenge with a laugh...

An eternity later, just as I start to drift asleep again, Sasuke ponders, "you didn't _want_ me to kill him, did you?"

Dazed, tired, I grumble into my pillow, "no...Itachi never did anything to hurt either've us...he was kinda nice, in a silent, bastardly kinda way..."

"Jealousy?" Sasuke probed, smoothing circles in my hair.

Tension departs with the swift movement. "...don't stop doing that..." I slur, intoxicated with respite. "...waitasecond...are you implying I _like_ your big brother?" I demand, snapping away with a horribly audible _crk!_ of my neck.

As I rub the offended muscle, Sasuke glowers. "Dreams, Naruto, hold the answers to our waking problems."

It's my turn to snort, now. "You sound like a fucking shrink."

Sasuke glares daggers, and replies, "So what do you think?"

I shake my head dismissively, "Sasuke—in my dream—" eerie, how those words chilled me...like the Lady Mary's must have—

"—yes?" Sasuke broke the thought with a soft punch to my aching shoulder.

My brow furrows as I try to recall _why_ my muscles ache. "Sasuke, I need to go to work—"

"—it's Tuesday. Your day off."

Quiet.

"Sasuke, I love you..." I tease.

His eyes grow grimmer. "Naruto," he presses.

I shrug, and offer, "...maybe 'cause Itachi told 'im to..." I open blue eyes, and cock my head, listening for a reply.

_Naruto!_ the voice pricks at my sleep-muddled brain, and slowly, killing sunlight, dawn, like a monster's horrible growl.

I turn to face it—

—and black hair fades into white-gold, with blue eyes the color of ice.

Shocked, I whirl around, expecting to see Sasuke strangled on the floor—

—but only darkness greets me, and the harsh city lights of outdoors. Gaara's apartment complex, with its high rising glory and _packed_ rooms, isn't exactly as I remember it...for one thing, last I recall, I've never been to the roof.

Don't even know how to get there.

My throat goes numb as the words float on a nighttime breeze.

"Be bold," the puppet master whispers, "be bold..."

Eyes wide, I look over the dark city life, and wonder at the pale, silken kimono— _yukata_, my mind whispers, _kimono are heavy silk, with layers—_around my form.

"...but not _too_ bold," the faint smile, the odd tilt of his head. He challenges me with his ice-blue eyes.

I looked down slowly, and my heart leaps. My feet are planted firmly on the ledge, leaning against a guardrail no one could _reach_ without a ladder...

...and Gaara calls up at me, dressed again in cotton pajamas, red hair aflame in fluorescent light.

Emptiness fills me so quickly I don't' know what to do, and in a fury, I whirl towards Sasori—_how do I know his name?—_with a snarl. "You tricked me!" I wail, for his ears alone.

"Sa," he replies, dead white in the uncomplimentary, flattening lights. "I gave you what you wanted."

I tried to back up, but my feet touched _air_ alone, and there was suddenly nowhere to go.

"Naruto," the puppet master's smile widens, "...you would make an _exquisite_ addition to my collection..."

I close my eyes, and scream.

I can't help it...I'm angry, hurt...

...terrified...

When I open them, Sasori is gone.

* * *

Gaara had to call security to get me down...and the guys got some maintenance ladder, cursed me _and_ their luck, while Gaara explained things below.

His voice was too low to hear, but I can _guess_ what he's saying.

_'His ex is committed to a mental institution...and he's the only one who bothers to visit._

_It wears on a guy._

But I know his explanation will fall flat, like the noise of a pin dropping...lost in a crowded subway station.

To my side, I see the burly guy come upwards, feet positioned firmly on the ladder. He spits in my direction when he realizes he's gone as high as he can go, and sees me in my white shift. He calls out to me, "all-righty, lover boy. Get yer ass over here!"

I don't move, eyes frozen to where I'd last seen the tall man in a black robe...

"Hey, you on drugs 'r somethin'?" the guy demands.

"I can't." I croak, my lips barely moving.

"Can't jump?" the guy laughs, dark and spiteful. "Good! You know how much time it takes to clean up a suicide?"

I don't reply.

Encouraged, he continues. "You gotta bag the guts, zip up the body, and spray the whole floor with high-power water...and even then, sometimes there's still a _stain_ on the ground." He pulls himself onto the ledge carefully, taps me on the shoulder. "Listen, kid, you gonna come _peace_fully, or do I gotta carry your ass down?"

I shudder.

He laughs again, _hoists_ me over his shoulder, and manages to get me on his back, piggy-back style. "Don't let go," he warns, "or I'll make you wish there _was_ a hell."

I thought of Sasuke's dark eyes, then of Gaara's.

Below us, the nighttime manager-or-whatever was talking pretty loud...his voice carried up to me easily, "..._that's_ the guy who found 'em? The blond kid? And his ex...he's the kid who _bloodily_ murders his brother and gets _away_ with it?"

I'd forgotten...

...the trial...it _was_ discussed on the news...and only Sasuke's family influence and _age_ kept his name from entering childish nursery rhymes for macabre humor...

_Lizzy Bordon had an ax...and gave her husband forty whacks...and when the job was_

_neatly_

_done, she gave another forty-one._

The guy holding me jerks a little, and when his feet touch cement, he unloads me gently, like I might break. There's a certain air of sympathy about him that's less palatable than even his anger.

I fall to the ground, my knees just folding in like so much tin foil.

Gaara rubs circles in my shoulders, pulling me to my feet. "Come on," he says, without any hint of surprise, distress or anything.

...Gaara's got a damn good poker face...

Our retreat inside goes unmarked, except by the quiet pity and shock of two old men...who aren't quite old _enough_ to stop being surprised at youth's brutality...

Finally, when we're in his bedroom again, under blankets and with lotion rubbed into each of us, do I begin to wake.

"...Gaara?" I ask, quiet.

He smiles encouragingly, and I find the expression charming on his honey-and-cream colored face. Like before, he replies, "yes?"

I shake my head ruefully, and lick my lips. "Happy new year."

Laughter fills the air...Gaara's.

I'm surprised, but only vaguely. _All_ my emotions seem to come through a filter of ice.

I close my eyes, but I do not sleep. Gaara's presence is nevertheless reassuring, warm, and _very_ real.

"Happy New Year, Naruto."

"...happy new year..."

* * *

tbc...

thoughts? Please? This is as draining a story as anything I've ever written...so feedback would be...replenishing, to say the least.


	8. thrown in shadows

This time: Something blurs the line between waking and dreaming. Naruto works through it in an odd way, and meets old friends.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing of the _Naruto _series.  
**Warnings:** unresolved angst. Breaking heads. Some minor poetry.

**

* * *

Recap.** 'cause I know this is a long story, updated at odd intervals.

Naruto crashes his car when he and Sasuke argue over something pointless. As far as Naruto's concerned, this drives his lover to madness, and the young blond must learn to cope with the new situation. Sasuke is admitted into a mental facility. One summer, Naruto takes Sasuke to see fireworks. When Sasuke's transferred to the adult ward, Naruto is forced to take a break from seeing his old flame, and meets Gaara...the two hook up, and Naruto muses about life. Thus done, Naruto takes Sasuke to his work, they play around, and Naruto gets depressed. He wanders around for a while, meets up with a mysterious Sasori...and faints. Things at work become more complicated for Naruto. He spends time with Gaara over Christmas, meets up with Sasuke and recalls a strange memory where Itachi gives Sasuke a rose. Over the New Year's holiday, Naruto volunteers his time at the mental institution, where he unexpectedly runs into Sasuke's parents. Later, Naruto tells Sasuke the English fairy tale, _Mister Fox._ Naruto returns to Gaara to fall into a curious experience of losing time.

**

* * *

My Sasuke.**  
_thrown in shadows..._by Taes

It's getting closer to _that_ time of year again…always seems like it smacks me over the head without much warning, but y'know what? It's not really _too_ unexpected…I mean, time flows whether or not _I'm_ looking.

God, it's just one of those days, isn't it? One of those tight-assed mornings where I can't seem to raise my head from the pillow…shit, even after I opened my eyes I wasn't sure _whose_ apartment I was at, y'know? So I'm lying on a stiff bed with my head cradled in a soft, full pillow…even glancing around doesn't help my sleep-fuddled mind. Me, here…it could be my place _or_ Gaara's…

…until I notice the framed picture, facedown on its makeshift stand…soon to be buried in a pile of clean sleep shirts.

Home.

…or as close as I'm to get, anyways.

I fall back into the comfortable pillow, rest my aching shoulders and wait for the heaviness to ease out of me…only it doesn't. I'm still cold, tired and achy all over…

God, I'm getting to _hate_ Christian holidays…

_Saint Valentine, will you marry us?_

_Of course, my children…for this is the will of_

_God._

Help me, hate me, fuck me over, but don't even _try_ to give me that shit. I fucking don't _want_ God! He's a fag. He's too good, too idealistic—

—fuck, I'm tired.

Stupid Valentine. Screw cupid…why the hell is a Greek demigod coupled with _Valentine_ anyways? Religion's screwed, I'm telling you… say one thing? Do another.

Uuugh, my head hurts, but I'm rolling outta bed anyways, and pulling my sorry ass to the shower…and then it's off to work, damn it all…

I walk through the double doors with my hands in my pockets, hair barely dry and cheeks red. It's one of the last times I'll get here fifteen early—the bus, you know, which _conveniently _stops running after nightfall, so I walk a hell'uv'a lot. Forgetting that, I got a call from my lazy-ass mechanic friend…he told me my car's almost done…and what I gave 'em already should be—

"—thank god, some help!" The Daughter calls, older 'n me, chatty as hell, and a fucking irritating old bitty whose name I can't—

"—where'd the money go?" old, watery blue eyes turn on me, and I almost groan.

I blink at the two of them, asking, "huh?"

She gives me a look that says, _you know what I'm talking about._ "We're short some—"

I sigh, wave my hands vaguely, and brush past her. "Give me fifteen, Karin…I'm too tired for this shit straight off the bat," so I walk off, undoubtedly earning myself a corner of hell-fire in just a few minutes…

…fuck it all, I _hate_ money…

Minutes later, yawning as I pull on the tacky blue vest from Wall-Mart—_'How can I help You?'_ the bold letters screech, and my scowl adds, _'dumb bitch,'_ to the phrase as clearly as anybody could say it.

Still grimacing, I turn my attention to The Daughter, knowing Karin to be about as agreeable as a bulldog. "Now what's up?" I ask, no more wiling to hear now than I had been fifteen minutes earlier.

Frowning at me as one of my teachers might've, she says sternly, "when we counted the drawer this morning." She waits dramatically for me to blanch or something stupid like that.

Instead, I pull the logbook with scratches 'n scratches of monetary figures. I see in just a minute what happened. "It went missing Monday night," I murmur, "…not this morning, yeah?"

So the whole game starts all over again, me wanting to roll my eyes at the utter futility of it all…

Finally, I shout, "Kale!" like some kinda alarm bell, some code name of emergency or somethin' when it's really just the assistant manager's name…

I see him, with his black ski-hat and beautiful Hawaiian eyes, and not for the last time, I wonder, _what brought you here, when you coulda had paradise? _

…opportunity, maybe, when I see his worried eyes shift towards _me._

"Kale m'man…" I begin slowly, muttering a little low as he smiles his slow, easy-going type grin…makes it hard to remember that he gets so damn anxious. Well. I go on anyways, "…why is everyone telling me we're short fourteen dollars?"

His shoulders kinda tense, his whole being stiffens, and his lovely eyes seem to turn down. "I dunno," he sighs, and I wonder how much grief he gets, "they say on Tuesday it's gone—"his accented voice seems too fast, too edgy. He's told me before, that he worries _they gonna look at _**me!" **or, _if I'm gonna steal money, I'm gonna steal a _million. _Make it worth the trouble._

Great. "Y'know, neither of us work Mondays anymore, dude…"

The two hens cluckle a little at each other, stiff and sore from lack of a target to jump.

"…and we can't do anything 'till the big boss says so, yeah?" I continue.

An easy smile washes over Kale, he's the guy appointed manager instead'a me, thank god…I'm kinda glad I got both've us outta hot water.

"You shoulda watched the drawer better," Karin says, still grumpy on account of the z-racks piling up, no doubt, and she stiffens her lower lip. Her jaw juts out a little, and her smile is sour…the perfect accent to her watery eyes…

Hell take me for saying it, but I don't want those lackluster orbs when I get old. Save my sparkle, keep my deep blues and almost-purple shades…my eyes are all for star gazing, and I sure as anything don't wanna turn watered-down-paints-for-eyes up to the heavens when I make my last wish…

I smile weakly, and hope. "leave it alone, Karin, we're all fine…"

The Daughter's smug attitude, _I know something worse,_ gets to me, just as she opens her mouth. "The store's gotta inspection next Tuesday…"

"Valentine's." I guess with a wince.

She nods, pride or whatever in her chubby face. "Well, y'know, Monday they said, but when do they ever come on time?" she chuckles at her joke, the only one laughing.

I just nod, grab some Windex and head off for the dressing rooms…full of clothes as a laundry matt, and all of 'em needing to be put on hangers…figures. First, those go in their lovely baskets—to be dealt with later—and now I can get to it…the basic cleaning that'll need to be done in case the inspectors come early.

I'm still busy scrubbing at walls and mirrors when the door behind me opens. Without turning to look at the culprit, I call, "wait just a second, and I'll be right out—" a glimpse in the glass; a small widening of my cerulean eyes to match hers…

A toddler, clutching a toy. Hispanic, Mexican, probably, with curly black hair and golden-brown skin that's so pretty, even in the winter. She's cute.

I smile. "Okay, sweetie, time to go out now, okay?"

She won't budge when I gesture.

I try again. "Where's your mama?" I coax, and wave for her to get out of the small dressing-room.

She hides her round, adorable face in the corner, showing me a bushel of curly hair…

In my mind's eye I see it. Sasuke, grinning, steps easily into a great, old gray bin on wheels. A finger to his lips, and a bit of shuffling into position…_Let's play a trick,_

I frown. "I'm gonna pick you up, sweetie, and bring you to your mommy, okay?" and I have to wonder if she knows what I'm saying…so I put my hands around her tiny, doll-like waist, and take her out…she's lighter than I thought she'd be, and with a puffy winter coat, she's very, very soft…

I smile, put her down, and wonder how anyone could leave such a baby alone…but nevertheless, I'm happy by e encounter. I guess blessings come in small, cute sizes, too…

Mentally, I make a list of things to do, cleaning, organizing and generally making the whole place look like a shiny piece of glass; pretty, but bound to get messy again…like the corners of my eyes or the fingers of a poor child in paints, chalk or—

—blood

on everything.

on me and mine and—

—the little girl, who just left my arms to touch ground, collapses into a ball of sorrow. She's so tense, screaming and sobbing, and I can't help it but to jerk away, cover my ears and stare. My head smacks against the white door with an audible thud, but I won't notice 'till later…

…the baby's mother waits for a minute before leaving her would-be purchases. I can tell she's a ghoul with gnashing teeth and red stained fingers and ruby lips. Her long hair is pinned tightly to her head, framing the skull behind thin flesh, ghastly white skin that doesn't quite stretch to cover parts of her jaw.

My breath catches.

The girl is cradled up to her mother, and reality crashes down on me like a ceiling of glass.

…someone's tapping me on the shoulder, and a faintly accented, _musical_ voice brings me back…the world is painted in shades of gold, not crimson, and my friend of exotic origin bleeds into focus like a slowly closing flower.

Hoping to clear my mind of fog, trying to make sense of what words are said, I snap my head from side to side. The jolt makes my vision float, and I wince.

Taller, more heavily built and stronger-seeming Kale.

I try and step back to give my eyes some leave, to get everything into focus and _try_—

—but there's nowhere to go.

Large hands, tilted Islander eyes, "you okay?" Kale hums, he's always singing, not talking…low and heavy like he gets when serious, "Naruto?" he reaches to touch me.

_No,_ I duck under him, put my entire weight on my arms to spin my legs like a propeller. My whole mass swings so that I feel weightless, a turning top or spindle on a single pivot. Falling, tumbling from the stars so great and high…dizzy. Crashing into the sea of reality so quickly I can't tell what's what.

He jumps up unexpectedly, grabs for my shoulders to steady us—me and him—

but I'm gone

skidding backwards to find my fate

in white walls

of plaster, with

sharp

corners to tear my head.

I choke, keenly aware of all eyes on me, and roll under the metal bars—meant to hold shopping-carts—to whirl between the gray bins left out for donations to the store. All of it to be sorted, priced and put on the floor for charity, remember—not meant to be

for a minute

I thought I saw the black-haired, black-eyed slip of a boy ducked in there. A ghost

of my memory

_Naruto, _Sasuke said, from his bin on wheels, _cover me up with your clothes._

_What!_ I squeak. _I'm not gonna—_

—_your clothes to _**buy,**_ idiot, not what you're wearing. I can't believe you…_

I flush red, mumbling, _well, _**you**_ aren't exactly known for your modesty in romance—_

—_just shut up already and do it._ Sasuke commands, a snarky smile on pale lips—is he cold?—and a sparkle in dark eyes.

"Naruto!" Kale's accent is thick in his voice, now; worry clouds his eyes.

My head hurts.

I touch my fingers tenderly to the soft spot of my head…where spine meets skull, the tense muscle that never gets proper blood-flow…and I draw my hand away

red

on me, of me

"…Sasuke…" I breathe, and I can feel my eyes shake in their sockets…

…someone's hand on my arm, firm voice in my ears, filling my crowded, salty and spinning head. "Naruto," heavy "come to the office, okay?"

I find my feet shakily, but I can barely see for the salty water pouring from my head, can barely feel for the throbbing…strong arms under my shoulders, under my legs. Blood dripping, _ptt, ptttt…_as we walk.

Why am I bleeding so much?

spinning, falling

into black

eyes of

all.

Why do I carry so many tears?

Lay me down on your bed,  
Touch. Me gently, not at all,  
Bring me to rest

please

"…Naruto…" the voice nearly jolts my mind to waking, "this is gonna hurt."

White hot pain tears my eyes open, sets my mouth ajar and pulls the noise from me. "St…" a quiet moan, and a hissing inhale of breath. "…stop…"

Quiet tsking. "You should be more careful." Somber eyes and a serious mouth. "You hear me?"

My eyes hurt, my head stings. "…yeah…" I wipe my face, "yeah."

His mouth is pinched a little, weariness shows in his face. "Something going on?"

I swallow. "…I can—" choke, touch my cheeks, "…can't handle screaming…" my voice shakes as my eyes jiggle… "it—it's nothing…"

His dark chocolate eyes study me for a minute. "You need to go to the hospital?"

I blink, reach to touch my head, only Kale pushes my hand away. "…is it bad?" I wonder.

"Nah," Kale smiles, "just bloody…" he stands up, a fist full of band-aid things in one hand, a cotton pad in the other. "Le'me…wrap you up, okay? And you can tell me about your 'nothing.'"

Sighing, I lean my head foreword—away from Kale—and let him part my hair. "You've lived here a while, yeah?" I wait for his quiet confirmation before going on. "…y'know…the summer before last…there was a murder in an old family…the older brother died at—"

"—by the younger one, hmm? With the kid let go for being insane." His voice comes easy, his hands strong, firm and unbothered by the subject.

I sigh. "…the 'kid' was my boyfriend." There isn't anything else to say, really.

Kale mulls this over for a minute before it clicks. "Oh."

I let out a shaky laugh. "…geeze…" swallow before I choke, "I found the brother…the body…and the kid…there was lots of blood…"

He licks his lips a little, as though to stall for time while thinking of what to say. Finally, he takes a guess, "lots of screaming, too?"

Silent for a moment. "Yeah."

There's tight pressure on my head while Kale applies the cotton square and Band-Aid—is that a butterfly stitch, or no?—and my head divides in two. I can't help but moan a little, and squeeze my eyes tightly shut.

His voice is almost unrecognizable to my head, and I can sorta make sense of his words—if I try—so he says it again, "you wanna go home?"

Dizzy, I shake my head, knowing a certain redhead'd kill me if he knew what I was about to say, "I can't afford to, m'man…" it ain't like I'm a weak ass anyways. I can take care of myself.

His laughter surprises me, and he leans a little closer, "gotta date you're saving up for?" teasing eyes, sweet smile. He's a nice older brother type guy…but I guess he thinks the critical moment's gone and passed.

Wan smile. "Somethin' like that…" my eyes sting, even as I push cold fingers into the corners. Wet. "…damn it, something's in my eye…" I sniff a little in effort to bite back another choking sob.

I'm so tired…god help me, I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. Screw these games, I don't need another fucking nightmare while I'm _awake._ The one is enough…

Silence runs over us like the wind, swift and invisible, until he finally gives me the nod to leave…my eyes squint shut as he pats the little bandage, but I'm free to go in just a second. Free to wander around until old mother and daughter call me up to the front…

I head up quietly, quickly to avoid Kale pulling me back into a chair or something to rest...and then I'm walking up the clothes' aisle with a towel under my foot, scotching it along to clean up the tiny spots of blood.

The Daughter stares at me when I near her. "I knew Kale did Karate, but you, too? Don't you think it's stupid to fight a black belt?"

Karin pipes up, "and right in front of the camera, too."

I ignore them, deciding tnot to mention that both of us were outta camera range.

The only ones concerned about me are the two older ladies, Charlotte and Loran. They're both two wonderful ladies of _compassionate_ hearts and sweet dispositions...I get a hug from both. It helps, I guess, that they're both mothers of boys.

…so tired.

My smile droops, my head swims, and I have to wonder, as I walk along, how many people listen to me, how many don't.

I'm sick of it.

Time drags by in a flurry of putting things where they go, and I hear various sniping comments from people who don't know what they're talking about…so it goes, and everyone goes home except for me, Kale and that new girl…she annoys the hell outta me…always talking, talking, talking about this anime or that one, bragging about things I don't get and asking if my ex-boyfriend could teach her Japanese, if we still have sex on the side—

—god, I've never been asked so many embarrassing questions in my life.

The _quiet_ girls are nice…the ones who leave me alone…

So there I am, while that girl's on break—I kinda forgot her name…maybe it'll come back to me—alone at the register when this middle-aged lady comes up…she's fat, with rumpled hair, and strangely pristine clothes…huh.

"Hello," I smile good naturedly, start to collect her things, and ask quietly, "how're you doing today?"

"Fine," she garumps, shoving as many items on the counter as possible.

I offer the best smile I know how to give. "So, we've got two ninety-eight," systematically pull hangers and deposit 'em where they go, then fingers fly across a number pad that I've known for such a long time… "and one ninety-eight," I purse my lips…something's odd. My hands land on a pair of men's pants…they've got a new plastic stem—it's green—but a mismatched _blue_ paper tag…

…guess that explains it.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," I say, folding up the thing, "but I'm afraid the price has been tampered with. I can't sell anything with a price change—"

Se bustles, "I need clothes for my son," she says defensively. "He's gotten bigger, and he needs things that fit. It's so hard to find his size, you know…"

Frowning, I drop the bundle of cloth to the ground. "Sorry, ma'am," I repeat…it's all old to me. I've heard every excuse twice over by now…my hands touch the next item, and the next six afterwards…all changed. New clothes with old sale tags. Frustrated, I heave a sigh, bring a hand to the back of my head—bandage is still there, good—and push everything to the floor. "I'm afraid I can't sell any of these, either."

Her outrage is unbelievable. "Why not? They just got jostled in the dressing-rooms!"

I quickly decide _not_ to enlighten her about the store's safeguard against such thievery, lest she seem more clever next time. I offer another smile, this one edged, and sing, "I'm sorry, ma'am." A quick glance at the rest of her merchandise leads to a similar predicament…"and I'm afraid I can't sell this toy, either."

She narrows her eyes. "Why—"

"It's that we don't have any ninety-eight cent prices, alright?" Frustration leads me to break a few rules; "it was probably a dollar ninety-eight. Do you still want it?"

She scoffs, "of course—"

"Alrighty." I go back to the remaining pile, "so—"

"What about the clothes, huh? I want those, there's nothing _wrong_ with them—"

shit. _big_ mistake to be nice… "sorry, ma'am," how many times do I have to say it? "Those will be re-priced tomorrow, so if you—"

"I didn't do anything, they just got pulled down by the dressing room," She gives a funny little laugh that betrays her nerves.

_More like pulled _off _in the dressing room,_ I think to myself.

"So _sell _ me these shits, do you.understand.me?" her voice is so tight and fast it almost makes me wince to hear it. Almost.

I drum my fingers in exasperation, waiting for her to get on with it. I just barely manage to resist rolling my eyes…

"Your manager knows me by name," she continues with an ugly smile and another phony laugh, "whenever I come here, he marks _anything_ that's lost a price, and you won't do it?"

My head's throbbing, my eyes hurt, "no." she's _so_ lying… our big guy avoids the registers like the plague, and he never marks _anything_ down…not if he can avoid it. "Ma'am, no is no."

"I'm calling your manager."

I can't help but roll my eyes now. "I can give you the number if you want—"

"I already have it!" she snaps. "And I'll have you in a load of trouble, young man—"

Exasperation cuts my patience thin, and my eyes narrow just a hair. With a grin better suited for a mountain lion, I purr, "ma'am," bitch, "I don't believe you."

"I'm going to show _you_ that all the tags are like this—"

"There's a _different_ way of telling, ma'am," I grumble, clearing the machine and reaching for an over-ring slip to jot down the 'mechanical error' of annoying customers.

Just as I'm done unpacking all her crap and putting up her things, the old bitch comes back. "Look, is this okay?" she snarls.

Glancing at the overall condition, the plastic price-tag stem _and_ the paper price-tag, I note the corresponding colors, I nod. "Yeah. That'll be three ninety-eight."

She snorts. "Your prices are too high."

I'm glowering at her through slitted eyes. "This is a non-profit organization, ma'am. That's why there's no tax. It all goes—"

"—they've always charged me tax before—"

Liar.

"Ma'am, as long as I've been here, there's been no tax."

She huffs.

"If you'll look at the wall over there, you'll see it on your way in—"

Another snort. She pays and leaves—forgetting her earlier merchandise—purposefully avoiding even a _slight_ glimpse towards the wall, where the truth hangs in blue letters.

Someone help me, _people_ today are so damn frustrating…

So the day goes on…and I blink weary eyes into focus as quickly as possible when the girl comes back—only for a second, this all-knowing cashier-in-training…she's not done eating, and will be back in a few…

…so the rest of the customers decide to gather together, uniting in an insane rush just when I wanna go lie down…

I pause to get something from the showcase—turning around slowly to catch the waiting lady's words while I moved…

"oh! Mister, you're bleeding…"

"Was it this one?" I ask, facing her slowly still. My hands are full with the dish she wanted to see.

"Yes, but your head—"

I put the centerpiece-or-whatever on the counter. "It's not bad," I assure her, touched by her concern, "I just ran into the wall earlier…" I run my fingers through my hair lightly, and it's just a little sticky. "…guess I need a new bandage…"

"Please, don't hurt yourself," the lady continues.

I grab the telephone, hit the intercom to the backroom. Mercifully, Kale's there. "Hey, when you've got the time, y'wanna bring me a new band-aid? Mine's coming off…"

The customers exchange glances, but I ignore all offers to wait…

Kale comes up with the girl, Samantha, maybe? And pulls me to the floor right there, an alcohol-wipe in hand. Without a word, he removes the falling bandage and parts my hair, pressing the cotton thing firmly, though gently, to my raw skin.

"Ow!" I gripe, much to the elderly ladies' amusement, "hey, hey, that hur—_ow!" _I make a face, "…I said band-aid, not a cleaning attack…"

"You need to keep this free of crap, or I take you to da hospital myself." His voice holds a certain amount of humor, but at the same while there's a degree of sincerity flavors his words… "now hold still."

Samantha looks with unabashed curiosity at the back of my head—I can _so_ feel her eyes on me—so that she might see some gore.

From the line of customers, an elderly lady snaps, "Excuse me, miss, some of us have been waiting for a very long time. If you could get on with it?"

"Sorry about that," the girl mutters, interest stifled with embarrassment, but not yet bridled. Something about her demeanor told me that she wasn't exactly _through_ with me. As time passed, I was certain she'd figured out a way to bug me…if anything, that girl is _clever._

I tried to stay still as my head was forced back together. "Hey, Samantha, don't forget about the—ow!—shoe button thing…they're not miscellaneous…are you _done_ yet?"

Smiling innocently at me from above, Kale's Hawaiian eyes crinkle in a friendly expression of mirth. "Yeah. But hold on to it, okay?" he moves my hand to put pressure around the bloody little spot, "for at least fifteen minutes…better thirty." He nods at Samantha. "we got up here; you can go take a break."

Scowling at my friend and boss, I roll my eyes in salute. Heading for the break room to clock out for a quick minute or so, I then waltz right past the two, still holding the bandage tightly to my head. "You wanna drink or something? I'm getting tea."

Kale raises an eyebrow at me. "I told you to go on break." He says with a half tilted smile, and amused, sparkling eyes.

Grinning, I nod. "Yeeeeah…so what! I'm hungry, and I don't have any food."

"Nah, I'm fine," Kale mumbles, and turns away.

Samantha grins at me. "I'll take a coke!"

Scowling away from her, I call back, "yeah, but you'll owe me one when I don't have a dollar." I assure her. "'s how things go…and you want a diet one?"

She laughs—a strange cross between a conceited and self-conscious comment—just a bit. "Hey, thanks for telling me I'm fat."

Girls! I don't get 'em at _all_. "You're the one that's been telling me how hard it is to be on a diet—" I protest.

Her replying chuckle seems half-choked. Poor thing. "So you're telling me I _need_ to diet, then—?"

"Noooooo, aw, man, I give up…'s no use in arguing with you…so it's a _regular,_ then?"

She nods, so I meander out the door and across the parking lot…eager as ever to run across traffic to the convenience store I patron. And believe me, crossing a busy road while clutching your head is _not_ easy. Ignoring honking horns and impatient drivers—god, I dunno how many accidents've happened 'cause people don' like ta _wait_—I jog across the intersection into the building. Fortunately, the constant pressure's not left me with any sort of wetness under my fingers…guess fortune favors the dumb.

"Hey," I greet the cashier.

She's a perpetually cheerful-seeming young lady with short, brown hair and an engaging smile. Today, however, the girl seems to be more than a little upset. Her eyes are wider than usual, and her mouth is slightly open in disbelief… "sir," she's saying, "I can't break a hundred—"

Glancing at the folded green bill in the man's hand, and wincing in sympathy, I nevertheless continue past them. I grab a basket with my free hand, and make my way to the froze section. I awkwardly take a free coke from the display, some brambleberry tea—love that stuff—and a ready-made box of stir-fry. It isn't exactly my _favorite_ meal, but hey…beggars can't be choosers, hmm?

Handling my goodies with one arm, I slowly make my way back to where the sweet girl—Meaghan?—is. She's still arguing with the middle-aged, balding man with a bad attitude. I can barely catch her words from where I am…

As I come closer, things make sense of themselves. "—_told_ you, _sir,"_ the harsh stress on that word makes me think…she probably wants him to be more deserving of that title… "I don't have it!"

"You told me—'out of forty.' Where's my money?"

Oh, hell take such men. I roll my eyes in irritation, lean against the wall of candy to watch the scene unfold…

…as I suspected, the man was conning the poor girl outta some money…she must've pulled some twenties from somewhere to keep her register even, but not counted it back to the dude…so the guy takes advantage of this and says she shorts him some cash. No way to prove it—how're you to say he didn't have that twenty-dollar-bill in the first place?—except to count the drawer, and even that doesn't really work…

…his word against yours.

He walks out with more money than he came in with, with a snide smile to me. "You better be careful," he advises, a huffy laugh puffing from his lips that all people seem to do when lying 'bout money…

I raise an eyebrow, looking dubiously at the balding man. He exits with his bags, and I muse, "that guy's a crook," loud enough for him to catch it.

A distraught Meaghan rushes past me to another cashier, and their store manager—an elderly guy with a big heart—converses quietly with her in the corner. The other cashier makes a hasty retreat. He puts one hand on the girl's shoulder, and pulls out his billfold…firmly pressing some of his own money into her quavering hand...trying to set things right, keep her from getting in trouble...so her drawer won't be short.

Leaning as I am against the wall, I avert my eyes to the Valentine's decorations before me, examining the plethora of cards, chocolates and candy-colored plushies…there's little _love_ in all that crap…but looking at a simple, heartfelt gesture of compassion—that by itself can make the recipient glow…

Meaghan is hugging her manager—inappropriate? Hardly—and retreating to the relative peace and quiet of the backroom…

I'm sure she'll remember this a hell of a lot longer than some box of chocolates or a…

…single rose…

…hm.

Maybe.

With the girl outta the picture, I turn my sight on the older man, calling, "yo." I raise my basket, "you wanna check me out, oh-kind-soul?" I wink.

He smiles, comes forward, and clucks disapprovingly at my head. "Hurt yourself?" His smile is forced, judgmental.

Laughing, I smile earnestly. "Nah. It's nothin'…"

…or something like that, anyways…

Next stop, I guess, is heading for work, then home…

I sleep on my stomach for the next few days.

Consequently, my neck hurts.

* * *

There was a boy  
whose heart grew as  
still  
and unmoving as  
a  
thing of old myths  
and ancient legends.  
He was often called a  
child  
behind his back—  
of  
the times he wandered alone  
so the ill-thought-of  
course  
of life came to be his.  
They say his mind is  
always of two sorts;  
kind and extraordinarily  
giving  
but cold and selfish.  
all  
men could see that he's  
broken up inside  
of  
himself, never truly  
here or there. And  
to those of  
us  
who know him well,  
he seems to be  
nothing  
more than dreamy… 

Who are we talking about?

The entire tale is a lie…my dear, it could be exactly what I say, but it couldn't. Not likely. See, story-tellers are liars…twisting everything so that _you_ feel what they want.

I come by these thoughts on an almost empty bus, riding along to my lazy mechanic-friend's house…getting my car for the first time in ages. I've got my license outta my chest of junk, pulled on only a light jacket instead of a heavy coat. I'm ready to spend less time in the wind and more at stoplights, waiting for something to happen.

A series of thoughts about clothes, fashion and clerical duties barge through my mind as I lean against the window…my head's occasionally thudding quietly against the glass, but I'll be okay. Hard head, y'know?

Finally, I get to where I'm going…and quietly exit. Now all I've gotta do is walk a few streets down and hope to hell he hasn't fallen asleep…again.

This friend of mine, see, he's a computer guy, and his girlfriend's a pretty well-to-do artist…used to work for Hallmark for a good two years or so, but her sculptures—something to do with flowers—and paintings were doing _so_ well…so she quit Hallmark and supports the two of 'em easy. So his computer-gig is mainly for fun, giving them extra cash to waste on stuff I've never even thought of, pro'lly.

Anyways, I only mention it 'cause this part o' town's so…well, le'me put it this way. These couple blocks or so are pretty renown for the artist community. Being so close to prime art-galleries, great shops and killer companies, you see? The studio's down here are a hell of a lot more pricy 'n anywhere else.

Yeah. My friend. Like I said, his _job_'s got something to do with fixing up computers…but the dude's real handy at whatever he does. Guess you could say he's something of a genius. So back in high school, he used to watch his ol' man fix up junk cars…so he's picked up _that_ trade, too. Makes him nice to have around.

…yeah, old friends are pretty cool to have…I get the feeling he's only chargin' me for the parts, see? Not his time.

My feet take me down a block or two just thinkin' about all these things, and suddenly I realize I'm there…the big white trees breaking through the busy line of streetlights, and just a minute's drive away from one of the prominent bars in the city…it's damn _noisy _here. But you'd think—by all the photographs—that it was the perfect haven for 'inspired' artists' ventures…

I swing a right there, and find myself confronted by a sweet, well designed ol' building where m'friend 'n his girl live…So, entering this place is always like coming into a new world…like I'm walking into an 'expressive painting.' Everything's exaggerated, the light's so weird and the carpet such a strange color…it's a whole 'nother place from my apartment building.

Climbing a few stairs, I'm about to knock when the door swings open.

"Naruto!" a bright, bubble-gum pink head of hair exclaims. Liquid blue eyes grin out at me. "You're here for your car, right?"

Laughing as I take a step back, I squeak, "Ino?" her hair is outrageous…I can feel my face pinching into a tight grin that closes my eyes and makes my face seem pointed. A fox smile.

She returns the expression as best she can. "Yaaah?"

"…why're you spiking your hair?"

With a great laugh that bespeaks her amusement, the formerly-blonde girl shakes her head. And her eccentric earrings jingle a little tune of mirth, themselves.

"Weeeeell, I wanted a change…and certain big-forehead girls thought I as trying to _im_itate them. So to let said girl know it was _nothing _of the sort, I cut it all off! Hah!" she grins as she leans against the door. "Hey, you got a minute?" her eyes sparkle with mischief, and I notice just there that she's fixed a gold rhinestone to her eyebrow…it catches the light in an interesting way.

From behind her, a lightly olive-toned man comes forth. "…Ino…don't try and drag _Na_ruto into one of your crazy projects…" his lazy, slightly bemused smile woulda been outta place for anyone else, but not for him.

"Hey, whas'up, Shikamaru m'man!" I grin, wet my dry lips a little and let the smirk show some teeth. "And your lovely girlfriend can borrow me for an hour _only, _dude, I've got an appointment—"

Shikamaru rolls his eyes. "…with Sasuke, am I right?"

I blink, and my smile drops for an instant. "…no—yeeeeah, so what?" I demand, flashing another of my old grins…a smile that catches sunlight and throws it back…

…that's what Sasuke said, anyways…

I don't know if it still can.

Ino drags me inside with a girly laugh. "So how _is_ my big-forehead-ed friend?"

Smiling still, I reply, "uhhhh, y'know her…she's set herself to becomin' the _best_ doctor in the whole damn world." Wagging my eyebrows suggestively, I ease a turn of lips from Shikamaru. "I think she'll be fine," pause, "how's Chouji, anyways? You heard from him?"

Ino's trying not to grin as she rolls her eyes. The affection there is hard to miss. "He's supposed t'come later this week to play go with Shikamaru…or maybe it was that Chinese-Japanese-whatever chess thing…"

"Sounds good," I say mechanically, but my stomach turns in a flip. All of my old friends are making good on their dreams—and where am I?

"Last I checked, though, he was still cooking at a Japanese steak-house, earning his weight in tips! Isn't that funny? Who woulda thought _that_ guy'd be any good with food outside of eating it?"

That certain unexpected fondness took me by surprise…there was a bit of warmth in her words, a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks, and an uplift of lips.

Huh.

"…so wha'cha want me to do?" I ask with a small grin, and a lazy stretch of arms… "and I get to keep m'clothes on, yeah?"

I must have startled the forthcoming laugh from Ino, she turned pink so quick. "Oh, god no." widening her pale blue eyes a bit, she pulls her hand against her mouth. "Uh, not to say that you're not, um, good looking or anything, but you're," she falters, struggling for words, "you're _Naruto."_

Shikamaru chuckles quietly. "Mm, she's got a point…"

I sigh a little to myself and toe off my shoes. "So where're we going…?"

Ino takes me by the arm, pulls me through the studio, humming to herself a tune Chouji sings, sometimes, when he's happy. I used to think he only sang it by himself, or with Shikamaru. The thought barely passes me when we reach a room made of windows. It's all green furniture, various throw rugs, and a lot of trinkets.

I think my eyes betrayed my surprise, my admiration…it was rather like stepping into another painting altogether. Somewhere from the old days, where women wore bustling dresses and men had long, flowing hair. In that early morning light, with the golds so soft they were white, it was definitely something special.

Ino beams at my obvious enjoyment of her décor. "Okay!" she squeaks, giddy with pleasure, "why don't you…make yourself comfy?"

Shikamaru had wordlessly followed us into the room, and his quiet surveying eye looked me _and_ the room over. He presses his mouth into a firm line. "Why don't you take the chair by the door?" he suggests quietly, gesturing for the one chair facing _away_ from the sun…

…hmm.

Smiling a little, I pad barefoot across the warm honey-colored wood. The two of them must have some kind of heater in the ground…any other place's floor'd be _frigid._ It makes for a great little haven, this unexpected sunroom in the back of an apartment complex…must've cost 'em a shit-load of money.

On the table next to me, I spy a few things draped over a table…softly, smoothly, I pick up a piece of cloth…it reminds me of kimono, with the light pink flowers, lovely yellow ribbons and green flashes of silk. Upon examining it—albeit briefly—I co0me across a startling revelation.

The Uchiha crest has its origin in this lovely, ancient pattern of design. It's not the red-and-white (blood irises and white eyes) _uchihwa, a Japanese fan, _but the strange tear-shaped _tomoe_. Three here are spinning inwards—

_the heavens, the earth and human kind. One for each, one for all. _Isn't that what you told me, Sasuke?

Ino's watery blue eyes focus on me strangely, and I sink back into the chair without realizing I've fallen into it. She pushes a bauble into my hands, but I'm not really looking at it…

The two of my friends chatter briefly in half-phrased words and questions. I don't make any sense of it. The next thing I realize, Shikamaru's looking me over with worried eyes, but a soft voice. "I'm going to tilt you a little." he lightly touches my hands, and then pushes me and the furniture to an angle of slight degree…

Sunshine spills over me like a wash of water. It warms half of my face, yet refuses to touch a great deal of me. I am thrown in shadows…doused in light.

…but the bauble glimmers like a star.

In the back of my mind, I realize that Ino's dragged an easel over, a handful of pencils and charcoal. Her hands move quickly, I can see it from the corner of my eye, and I can see her measuring all parts of me. Then she puts her hands to the paper…one hand steadying, but where I have I gone?

Far away  
in my head

_Naruto,_ Sasuke smiles at me, wearing his odd-seeming 'summer-kimono' called _yukata._ He continues, _I want you to wear this,_ his voice is loud to my ears, _just around the house, okay…?_

A nine-years-younger me screws his face up in a 'charming' way…_nuh-uh! I won't be caught _**dead **_in uh'ugly ol' dress!_

Sasuke's annoyance shows clearly on his doll-like face. _Of course you'll wear it! It's _yukata, _not a dress, stupid!_

My face flashes crimson. _It _looks _like a—_

—_it isn't. _His aristocratic voice allows for no argument. _Besides, _he cajoles, _don't you want to wear the Uchiha crest? _His hands gesture like small white birds to the eloquently falling fabric…he straightens a fold, _Naru—_

"—to?" Ino's voice is far off. Her pink-spiked hair's a little less crisp, and a smudge of gold highlights her cheekbone.

I wonder how it got there.

She continues hesitantly, loathe to speak after an eternity of silence, "it's been an hour…do you want something to eat?"

I shake my head even as my stomach gurgles loudly. Blushing as my cold hands fumble the orb away… "er, maybe…"

Ino grins and winks, shoving shoeing Shikamaru from the hallway and into the sunroom. She's gone in a flurry of color and laughter...something like I used to do, when we were all kids.

Funny, isn't it? How we've switched roles.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, seeming too awkward to be my childhood friend. At last, he opens his mouth, a few minutes after Ino's left. "…you've changed, Naruto," he notes. Maybe musing over the same as _me._

Strange, for him to _say_ something like that, instead'a just thinkin' it… "Odd for _you_ to say that, Shikamaru…when _you've_ gone and given up your daydreams…"

He stares at me weirdly, raises an eyebrow. "I'm doing exactly what I wanted," he replies stiffly.

My eyes shift closed… "what about Chouji—?" my voice falters.

"I'm still—"

"Do you _like_ him?" I lean forward, just a touch, and make an expression some 'friends' have labeled my fox-face…I can tell that's what Shikamaru's thinking of…just by the tilt of his head.

Shikamaru blinks just once. "Naruto," he says tightly, "that's none of your business," delivered in such a way that leaves no doubt in my mind.

Curious, isn't it? How many people's friendships grow into a certain sort of love…if nurtured, could every such affection blossom into the same sort of thing _I_ feel for Sa—

—for the loves of my life?

My features have relaxed into a more peaceful expression. A smile finds its way to my lips, and the so-called purity of it can be clearly seen in the reflection of an old friend's eyes…

…he eases into a small smile of his own. "So," he chuckles a little, "why don't we take a look at Ino's sketches?" Strangely, in the way Japanese young men seem to enjoy, Shikamaru leads me over to the easel without touching so much as my arm…

…so different from his girlfriend.

I look on to large pieces of paper.

See

my face, several times over, with lines running from pupil to mouth or ear to shoulder, all these strange relationships I never'd notice…and the smudges of paint—the smell seems so odd, so musty or full of _god_ knows what…those paint smears match my eyes, my hair, and maybe the skin on my cheeks…? But it isn't me. I'm not like that…not so

emotional

…it couldn't be me. That raw sort of _feeling_ is left to better men, can't be in my eyes. Can't be in a smile so forced it's plain as day to be broken…hell, my hand wasn't that tightly wrapped around the bauble…no, the picture staring back at me it

can't.have.been.me.

shouldn't have been.

I look at Shikamaru oddly, then, and wordlessly withdraw.

"…can you come back?" Shikamaru's asking, just as the sunroom door opens.

Ino, smiling, is carrying a tray with three slices of coffee cake, a pot of joe, and another pot of tea…Japanese style cups are resting elegantly against one-another… "I don't suppose you'll have lunch, too?" She asks brightly.

My head is swimming. "Maybe some other time…" I mutter, smiling only a little.

Ino's swept aside a few things with her foot, half-way across the room, before setting the cumbersome tray on the table…it's low-set, with Japanese-style cushions on the floor. All this is to the side of the utterly _western_ furniture—chairs, couches, carpets and the like—like a little world of its own.

The now fluorescently-topped girl promptly squats over one of the cushions. "Please, I made these this morning!" she declares self-importantly. "Won't you try it?" already deftly arranging cups and plates…deciding for me that I _will_ eat.

…and yet, how strange, that she's adopted so many of Shikamaru's customs…and somehow remained so utterly herself.

I nod anyways, despite the oddity, and sit down stiffly. I take a cup. "…I can't stay long," I admit slowly.

"Aa," Shikamaru shrugs languidly, his eyes half-closed and looking at me. "We understand."

Ino leans forward. "Tea?" she asks.

"Coffee…" I reply.

Tea…it reminds me of Sasuke. He always _hated_ coffee, hated my breath after _I_ drank some, didn't want to kiss or—

"—you'll have to come back when you have more time." She breathes. "So I can paint you…" she takes a sip of green-tea. When she sets it down, I can see the dollop of honey in the bottom of the cup.

I smile.

Shikamaru's tea is straight.

"Are you busy this time next week?"

I won't be, but I shrug. "We'll see."

Pressing the subject, Ino leans forward farther. "we can arrange for Sasuke to—"

My eyes light up.

Ino's grin is sultry, smiling just to please me, "…we can go to the bookstore, they've got all kinds of things…" winning a bit of worry and a lot of grins, she is. "Like coffee and—"

"He likes tea." I say, uselessly. Half dazed and not listening.

Shikamaru's head rests on steepled hands…it's Sasuke's old habit.

Ino's smile is…a little forced. "They have _tea, _silly!" she falters in her teasing. There's just a little oddity in her voice.

Why? Does she fear my bright eyes, my red lips? Or is it my sharp, fox-like teeth…?

_but it is not so, and it was not so…_

Shikamaru frowns to himself, as if in apology. I wonder what Chouji would think.

My head is heavy, my neck breaks. Down I swing, while a quiet litany (of words) flows through my mind and out my mouth, "and God forbid it should be so."

They stare at me, eyes wide. I scream silently aloud, but I pay it no mind—for a conversation passes—wordless—between them.

I can't stand it. So I drink my coffee…

…but I shalln't have any cake.

Always lying, always leaving.

_wont' you come with me,  
Lady Mary?_  
Down this dark, clouded  
_white road_ of crimson tastes?

Be bold, be bold.

Sapphire eyes shut.

The clawed paw of a _fox_ is cast down.  
_So I die, so I die,_ Mister Fox breathes, _but not  
for ever,  
doll. Not for all ways._

The mystery awaits me yet.

* * *

tbc...soon, I hope. I'm not done with Valentine's. 

**Challenge.** If you read it...all the way through...pick out one word or more (from your head or the story, I don't care) to tell me what you thought. Remember, feedback is the most important tool an author can have...and unfortunately, we can't get it from ourselves.


	9. cast in light

This time: Walking in dreams and saying things he'll regret, Naruto forges onwards...

**Disclaimer: **I own absolutely nothing of the Naruto series.  
**Warnings:** unresolved angst. Breaking heads. Poetry/contemporary writing section.

* * *

**Note:**  
This section features a rather confused Naruto, whose narration thus leaves out bits of coherence. Let the words flow over you, and you'll get the gist—details (to Naruto) aren't what matter so much here.  
Oh, and I hate Kishimoto's color choice for Sasori's hair...so it's not red in this story. --Smiles brightly-- so for this story, it's a pale blond. --Sticks out tongue at Kishimoto-- call it creative license.

**

* * *

Recap.** ('cause I know this is a long story, updated at odd intervals.)  
Naruto crashes his car when he and Sasuke argue over something pointless. As far as Naruto's concerned, this drives his lover to madness, and the young blond must learn to cope with the new situation. Sasuke is admitted into a mental facility.  
One summer, Naruto takes Sasuke to see fireworks.  
When Sasuke's transferred to the adult ward, Naruto is forced to take a break from seeing his old flame, and meets Gaara...the two hook up, and Naruto muses about life.  
Thus done, Naruto takes Sasuke to his work, they play around, and Naruto gets depressed. He wanders around for a while, meets up with a mysterious Sasori...and faints.  
Things at work become more complicated for Naruto. He spends time with Gaara over Christmas, meets up with Sasuke and recalls a strange memory where Itachi gives Sasuke a rose.   
Over the New Year's holiday, Naruto volunteers his time at the mental institution, where he unexpectedly runs into Sasuke's parents. Later, Naruto tells Sasuke the English fairy tale, Mister Fox.  
Naruto returns to Gaara to fall into a curious experience of losing time.  
Naruto sees strange things as Valentine's Day draws closer, and he fights (yet again) with people of all walks. He cracks his head open. While visiting Ino and Shikamaru, Naruto wonders about dreams. He comes to realize that—like the Sasuke of old—his dreams are all in the past.

**

* * *

My Sasuke** (Chapter 9), _cast in light_.

The clawed paw of a _fox_ is cast down.  
_So I die, so I die,_ Mister Fox breathes, _but not  
for ever,  
doll. Not for all ways._

"Goodbye..." Ino calls, her short pink hair seems too bright. It's hard to believe she was _ever_ that young, prissy brat who tried and sell flowers at school...who worked part time at her parents' shop. My head swirls around the old English fairytale, turning this young artist into the 'heroine' of the tale.

I raise one arm, but don't look back...

...I shalln't find answers in the _liars_ and blame-givers...

I fumble for the keys—can't remember _when_ Shikamaru gave 'em to me, but I'm damn grateful they're here...I wouldn't want to go back in and bother _them_ more. They don't need the likes of me getting in the way and—

—my eyes fall upon the evidence cast before us...that old car, paint peeling, but still running, apparently. It's strange, to board again, when I could trace so much pain back to a vehicle not so different from it—

But it _isn't_ the same, it isn't that hunk of metal that fell down—farther and farther—into the black.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, and trying to leave all remnants of _that_ old tale behind me, I take a small step towards it. My smile has returned a little, awkward and stilted though it may be. It's all just me...and I open the door. Get in.

It's _strange_ to be driving again...the pedals beneath my sore feet go down too quick. It's like my hands know better 'n my head, the way they keep me moving, keep me going. It's all too quick for my lousy brain to follow, it is.

My head's throbbing by the time I get to the hospital. My eyes don't wanna stay _put,_ much less focused, my head won't stop shaking, my hands trembling as I try and get _out._ The whole ride was too harsh, too edgy for me.

My knees hurt...my breath shakes.

Blink.  
Inside.  
Breathe.  
Knock once—_pthhd._  
Sasuke.

Smiling at _me..._a half sort of a smile that lets me know he's more _there_ than here, really, so I'm holding on

sigh.

Take the kid? _Why? _

Out again...back in a minute, don't you worry, ma'am, I'll get him home just fine.

Heave. cream..." the kid mewls.

My lips, dry, cracking, "...maybe next time..."

Hopeful eyes stare at me, so I pull the car over—when we got in, Sasuke started humming, and I started wondering, what if they find out? In the meanwhile, we unboard, little feet going _ptt._ those shoes...sandals...flower-donned and cold. From so many months ago; from me.

Does he remember?

Thrust hands—mine—into jean-pockets of orange. Patched over with sunflowers an' old shirts from age. Time given and bought, loved, like me. Like _him,_ with his coal black eyes and pink little tongue.

Walk.

See the trees, forget the hum of engine and _pulse_ of the rhythm of the road...breathe and forget.

Smile.

Clothes, new. "Sasuke," I call, pointing to the boutique. "C'mere, I wanna show you how _high_ these are—"

No kid.

No smile, just for me.  
Hiss.  
of breath from me, head aches from tension and _stress._ My mind splits, creaks, slow. "Sasuke?"

Panic, slow and soft. Nothing for it but to open eyes farther and seek him out...my Sasuke in disguise. I reach out an arm to grab someone on the street.

"Listen," I exhale the world slowly, my eyes darting about. "Have you seen a kid about this," gesture "tall? Asian, black hair, black eyes...he was with me—"

The woman shakes her head, eyes sympathetic but mouth straight. "No, I'm sorry. You should retrace your steps. He's probably waiting for you somewhere." She gently removes herself from my grasp. "Good luck." She calls, dry eyed.

My breath comes in shaky gasps, it's like I've just run forever, waken from a terrible dream.

"Sasuke!" I call, my hands tremble. "Oi!" my heart is so fast it could burst. "Oh, god..." I can feel someone's presence behind me, familiar and somehow _dark._ I whirl around to

catch

a glimpse of ice-blue eyes and soft, pale blond hair. Un-aging master of puppets and dance.

"Sa..." swallow. "Sasori..." mouth dry, eyes close. Open.

Gone.

Back up slowly, carefully. Doge a few people and spring into a store to mislead wary eyes.

How do I know his _name?_

_How?_

I can feel my eyes closing again, but I can't. Shove my hands in my hair and pull gently to wake _up--_

—and my eyes are rewarded with a glimpse of white skin and black hair. He's standing under a pool of light at a wide counter. A girl stands before him, behind a register as Sasuke stares intently at the machine. There's not a single clear emotion on his sweet face.

"Credit or debit?" the girl asks, while I'm rushing in.

Sasuke ignores her and punches four digits into the number pad, reaching for two ice-cream cones...the girls shakes her head and gestures back to the machine. Sasuke prods a few more buttons, and—miraculously—a receipt prints.

"Sasuke!" I call. "Hey..." and push through a few groups of people to reach the counter. I ignore their irate jibes. "Why'd you run off?" heart in throat. "Sasuke..." look at the cones.

Laugh...so hard I'm crying.

"...don't run off, kid..."

He smiles at me, innocent and sweet as only a child can be. _Child._ Not _my_ Sasuke...just a kid in disguise.

"Naruto," he murmurs, soft and mild. "Ai-su!"

...he taught me that...years ago. It's a cognate, a Japanese word for ice-cream...but they only _kept_ the first part of the English word...rather like the Europeans, I think. Ai...su. Nothing too hard.

I pull him to a table, and we sit down. I take my card back, asking, "how'd you get that, huh?"

I gently knock his forehead with my fingers,

"...Sasuke?"

Then I know it; something's not right.

He laughs low. Dark. Something glints in black eyes to reveal a shadow of _red._ A cocky little smile adorns his classically _beautiful_ face. "Naruto..." he breathes, not a child at all. "You're an idiot."

I stare. "Sa—"

"You ought to change your fucking PIN."

Everything comes crashing down. Head swimming, eyes unblinking and wide. _You idiot. I can't _**stand**_ people like you! You don't understand the American way!_ Black hair, black eyes, Asian tilt there, but she doesn't speak a _lick_ of a foreign language. _It's like when you go to McDonalds, ask for ketch up and they give you _one_ packet!_ She's talking more to her cell-phone than to me.

_Ma'am,_ my head ached all over again. _I can't change prices._

_It's got a goddamn stain on it! Let me tell you one, thing, _buddy. _Leave your morals at home; unless it's your store, a couple of dollars won't matter. Just change the fucking price!_

"...thanks for the ice-cream..." I mumble, and nibble at the cone. "...you remembered." I sigh. "Sasuke? What's wrong?"

Blank, staring eyes, lax mouth, tight breathing. He can't hear me at all.

I sigh, and get up. Go back to the register and wait for the girl to notice me. She doesn't seem to know whether or not to help the couple—they were waiting to pay—or me.

I save her the choice. "Can I get a plastic cup?"

Her eyes dart from me to the couple, then back to the blankly staring Sasuke. "Sir," she breathes.

The guy next to me clears his throat. "Hey, we were in line, buddy—" he takes a step closer. "Go wait in the back."

I smile tightly, looking at the girl behind the counter. "No. Sasuke needs to get back to the institute within fifteen minutes...you do _not_ wanna be responsible for a panic attack when he wakes up," I turn my gaze on the man directly, "now do you?"

The guy glances at Sasuke, who's slumped in his chair...someone rushes past his chair. The kid neither blinks nor watches.

The cashier's buddy, a cute coworker of chocolate-colored skin and a smiling mouth, hands me two plastic cups. He winks.

I nod, toss a coin in the air and bat it his way with a smooth changing of arms. The coin hits the counter and bops into his lax hand.

The guy laughs, and tips his hat to me.

...Itachi taught me that. I remember practicing for hours on end, trying to get it right, when Itachi did it _so_ easy...that just about killed me as a kid of twelve.

I drape my arms around Sasuke, dangling the cups and grinning like he's a little kid. "Sasuke-babe," I begin, taking the two cones from his hands, "Sacchan."

The kid stiffens as I drop the now-filled cups on the table. His head tilts upwards vaguely, and his breathing ceases to fill my ears. _"Nanda to."_ the words slip past my ears, but don't comprehend.

I blink, and reach beneath his arms to pull him up...Neji taught me this. It's a massage of sorts that usually forces the taught muscles in the arms and shoulders to relax, easing a near unending thread of pain for all of two minutes...but today?

His elbow rams into my gut without so much as a blink; he's skidded to the side and reached to pull _me_ off balance,

but too late

moved right, ducked down and kicked his legs out from beneath—

—jumped up? Gone.

Behind me, grab so close, one arm is pinned tight. I've got to loosen his grip, but no—

Caught. Trapped and pulled close to him.

"Naruto," his voice is deeper than I remember, his breath shaky on my neck.

Shouts from behind, calling for a cease in action, crowding my ears—

—something of a deadlock, my hands tied in his grip. I force him to fall down,  
_throw_  
his weight over mine—

—my arms crack uncomfortably as I pull different muscles and stretch bones.

Cry...my Sasuke...poor—

—foot in my face, my stomach.

Skid back, crouched, him glaring at me, me looking at him.

Blink.

Breathe.

"Naruto?" Sasuke breathes, back in his chair, sitting, perfectly at ease. There's a flick of oatmeal-cookie-flavored ice-cream on his tongue. white-gold and wet. He swallows.

I'm leaned against something—a wall, it turns out—with aching arms and a splitting head.

Someone calls out to me, "you okay?" the black kid from behind the counter. He looks concerned...the expression seems suited to his kind, open features.

"...yeah..." I reply, smoothing my hair with one hand.

We leave, Sasuke clutching two cones and me...not knowing if any of it's real or fake.

On our way back to the car, sweet black eyes turn to me pleadingly. "Na," he chortles, like a round little bird, "tell me a story." This last statement could have come from an earlier friend, the Uchiha I'd come to adore...his face is blank. Not at all childish.

My mouth opens of its own accord. "Once upon a time..."

His head drops a little, so far bellow that his shoulders seem as wings. My Sasuke offers no comment.

"There was a young fox. He was clever and quick, bright-eyed and well-groomed...most startling of all, however, was the brilliant color of his eyes."

A small voice is thrown from my companion, "a gift of the fox-keeper, Inari-sama...eyes of blue. Like yours." He pauses.

Smiling a little, I nod. The docs always said to _encourage_ creative thought...especially if it makes _sense._

"Are you a fox, Naruto?" he asks quizzically.

"No," my smile fades. "No I'm not."

He reaches out to touch my face, with the six mirrored stripes on two cheeks.

I step away, pretending not to notice his movements. "So the fox—"

Sasuke pouts from behind, like a little bird too stuffed with sweets. He rushes forward and _stops_ suddenly, sitting down exactly where he was. "Noooooo," he wails, burying his head in his arms.

"...the ice-cream is in danger," I go forward, reaching to touch his shoulders-that-would-be wings.

He lurches away, sobbing without tears.

"...do you want to name the fox?" I ask slowly.

Minutes pass without him replying. Eventually, he lies down entirely, back on the sidewalk and eyes too wide, but facing the sky. The ice-cream (thankfully in _cups)_ is saved from being spoiled.

I reach for one, and ease closer. Take a dramatic bite of the gooey-stuff, and say, "mmm...to bad Sasuke isn't eating with me...I bet _he'd_ like cookie-flavored ice-cream."

No answer.

"It's soft, fluffy and—"

"Naru."

"Huh?"

_"Naru."_ he repeats.

I cock my head quizzically, ice-cream halfway to my mouth. "What are you _talk_ing about?"

Sasuke sulks. "Naru!"

Realization dawns on me like a low-rising star. "...the fox's name...?"

A smile starts in his eyes.

I grin. "The fox's name is Naru?"

The kid's little _tilt_ of lips blossoms into a full smile. Blissful and wide, his eyes seem brighter.

I laugh. "Okay, _Naru_ is really hungry one day...so, being a fox of good thinking and great skill—"

"No Mama."

"N-no," I stutter. "No _mama?"_

"No papa."

"...so he's an orphan..." this does _not_ sound good...

Sasuke nods solemnly as he takes an ice-cone from me.

"Ohhhkay..." I sigh. "So the orphan fox is really hungry, and no one's gonna give him food. So like _any_ good fox, he takes himself to the riverside, to see what he might find.

"And lo!"

Sasuke's sitting on his knees now, looking at me with the curiosity of a small child.

"He finds the most delicate of things...a slithering, slimy basket of eels, a well-liked treat for young, newly teethed babes."

Sasuke smiles, and daintily licks his ice-cream.

I laugh, lift my cup to him, and seize the 'ai-su' quickly. "Slp! Gulp! Gone in seconds." Id o the same with a good bit of my treat, "and the little fox sneaks away...but to his dismay, there is a _man_ there, close to the side of the bank."

Sasuke's expression falls to a grim line. "And the fisherman smells the eel on his breath and _finds_ him. The fox is pelted with river rocks—smooth—and driven from the banks. The fox is wounded."

I blink, and try and go on, "so the little Naru makes his way to the man-village, intent on making things right. So in he slips, with a round nut in his jaws, to deposit on the shrine of the fisherman.

"Naru is very well pleased with idea, and continues to do this for many days...but alas, he is caught!"

I look to the streets, miming, a scared, just-revealed fox's actions. My eyes wide, my shoulders up, I give a great gasp.

Sasuke makes no response.

Across from us, on the other side of the street, a glimpse of black-and-red...something of clouds.

My lips open ,but I don't know what I've said until it's done.

Sasuke's crying, now. "Naru, Naru," ice forgotten and cast to the dirt. "No, no...not _Naru_ too, no, no!"

"...Sasuke..." I murmur.

"No!" he weeps. "Naru don't die!"

"Sasuke." I repeat.

"He _didn't."_

"Sasuke, Naru isn't real." I go forward.

"No!"

"I made him up...it's just a story.

"Nooooo," he wails.

"Sasuke," I repeat, "let's go, babe. Time to go home.

But Sasuke won't move. His knees are locked, his weight thrown down...nothing but real _force_ will move him.

...and I won't touch him like that. "Sasuke!" still nothing, "get up, get up. It's not _real!_ No one ever tells _real_ stories."

A long cry, that gains us more stares from afar. Several people have paused to watch the drama.

"Liar..." Sasuke mutters.

"Yes!" I leap for it. "All story-tellers are _liars,_ Sasuke. No one ever tells the truth unless they _have_ too...not for a story. Not even me."

Sasuke's eyes are dim. "Naruto..." the shaking, the sobbing, it could have been awful. Could have been the _old_ Sasuke. "Don't lie to me..."

I pull on his arm gently.

He stands.

Pressed into an embrace so tight it hurts. "...then don't ever ask me to tell _stories,_ Sasuke...'cause that's all a story is...a lie to make things sound all right..."

Sasuke sniffles. "I want..."

"Let's go."

And we do.

The car is so far away, with my Sasuke all _stuck_ here...with me, without himself. It's all the same, all old and strangely familiar to my head. Walk, shuffle, pull along with an old flame while everything else claims only shadows.

My head swims as we get into the car. Just like before, just like _that_ time, when we fell, fell, fell down—

click. seatbelts fastened.  
fwpp. Doors closed.  
the jingle of keys  
in my hands but  
not  
his, as a quiet little  
purr fills my ears and  
head.  
Nothing to it, nothing  
for it  
stop  
before you  
start  
(the car.)  
All right.  
keep me, keep you, listen  
as we go,  
the slightly   
growling machine  
of a thing sweeping over us  
as everything sweeps  
over  
all.

Take a right,  
Lights on, when did it start  
to rain?  
all alone in my  
head,  
the only vehicle and then—  
—lights  
on me, in me  
too bright to stand.  
_Jerk_ to sa stop,  
Head heavy  
Blood high.  
What do I do?  
what do I _do?_

everything sweeps  
me over and in  
to the side,  
stop.

"Sa..." I breathe,

A low, disturbed _mewl_  
Breaks the silence  
**stop!**  
Everything tears together  
Except for me...

help me  
stop me...  
out, out, _out_  
and then it's all over  
no more speed between my  
foot and that awful

thing.

Get.  
Out.  
(of my head)  
of the car.

Stop dawdling,  
Take my hand  
(take me away)  
And let's go.

"...the storyteller always lies."

Keep him safe, please.  
Keep him but not me

I'm gone, back again  
Into the quiet darkness  
Of the once-rusted over  
(now birth orange, loud even to my eyes)  
Car where I've no  
choice  
but to board again

drive

just _drive_ and get  
there before another panic attack  
bites my head  
and splits it in two.

Breathe.

_brea_the

J0ust take me home and  
take me quick, me  
deep  
alone in my—

—pou...r.i.ng... ...rain—

i...n my ears.

_help me_

There's a figure in the street  
tall.  
White.  
Ice-blue eyes on _me_  
(on you).

Stop

s...t.op.

just get out  
get out and go  
_away_ from  
everything  
and  
just

_stop_

Sorry, Gaara...

...Sasuke.

I   
can't  
do  
it.

park and lock  
and run in the

rain

breathe.

Breathe.

Just. don't stop.

A hand, on my shoulder...blue eyes, not watered down, but frozen over.

"Naruto." He says, a tilted smile on his mannequin's face. "You need to talk to me."

I stop, shake my head, but there's _water_ in my eyes, tears?

No. Just rain.

_the storyteller always lies_

"Where's the truth?" Sasori demands, his wooden fingers on my arm.

I start to fling him away, but he's gone, behind me now, not at all to my side.

"Naruto," he repeats. "I need to know..." lean forward, "do I need you for more than

"vengeance?" a strange  
and silky smile.

"leave. me. alone."

"No." he raises his hand—that of a doll—and gestures.

My knees give in. "I don't _know_ anything—"

Quiet laughter. "You were there."

"No I _wasn't!"_ I howl, weeping—the sky is—all around.

The wind blows.

...the teller knows  
best.

Sometimes...just sometimes...  
lies are better.

Sasori takes my face in his cold, porcelain hands. "Naruto." My name, _my_ name, why does he take it so? "tell me what Sasuke _did."_

_"Naruto!"_

lightly   
against my cheek—ears—it all comes and goes. "What weapon id he take, my lovely marionette?" he makes another motion.

I fall, lying in the rain, crying (the sky is).

"...I don't know..."

Cold hands on my cheeks.

I can't help but choke.

"Naruto?" worried voice, scared green eyes.

this isn't Sasori's voice.

"...Temari?" I ask, quietly.

my world  
is of teal blue  
and a dark cerulean that   
bleeds  
to black.

only _he_ is cast in light.

Shaky laughter fills my mind. "Yeah, it's me...it's Temari." She sounds scared.

I choke on water. "Great." I'm cold all over...

She's quiet for a minute, and then, "...come inside...you can drop by my place...we live maybe fifteen minutes—"

"No!" I sputter. "I don't want him to—" stop. "I can't."

Her eyes are wide and clear as crystal. "...then..." desperate tones, "come inot Dairy Queen. I'll get Gaara to come and—"

Laughter is the only response I have. "...I don't think I'm ready..."

She gives a scared laugh. "Ready for what?"

My lips twitch. "for"  
the real world  
"driving," I reply quietly.

She pulls me to my feet, and white water fills what's left of me. Just because it can. We walk, her beneath an umbrella an din a plastic coat—what a woman, to _walk_ for exercise in the rain—and me dripping wet.

I'll probably get a cold from all this...

Great.

"...my feet hurt." Lying again, but she doesn't notice.

"Just a little farther," she murmurs, and it's true. I can see the door, just as she opens it.

Just by the look on all their faces as we enter is enough to let me know it. I look like hell. My hair is wet, my clothes soaked from lying on the cold stone...I look like scrap and feel worse.

"My head's breaking in two..." I mutter, so low that no one can hear me.

_Hold me,_ the voice in my head—it sounds like a dream, wet and mist-like as the stars aren't—the voice begs. But my lips can't even form the words...

From the front, "...can I..." swallow "help you?"

Temari squeezes my shoulders, and takes her 'strong woman' attitude on like a girl of two minds. "Yeah. Coffee...two of them, please, and none of that crap you gave me last time."

"I'm sorry, you'll have to wait fifteen—"

Her eyes harden like emeralds. "You have a break room."

"Yes, but—"

"And _some_one drinks coffee."

"But that one's not for sale—"

"Here's two dollars." Her white hands dig it out so quickly it's almost magic, "so get me two mugs, okay?" her voice leaves no room for argument.

"Yes ma'am..." and that's the last I see of her, 'cause my feet've gone and given out on me...those workers are gonna be pissed, having to clean up my water-trail...

I must've drifted off, 'cause when I next open my eyes, I see another clear, cream-colored face looking down on me, sea-green eyes calm, even now.

His red hair looks like blood.

"Gaara..." I mumble, try and crack a smile. "Hey..."

"Hey." He returns, and there's a lot of meaning in that word. He leans down, trying to pick me up, despite the table—

—a cup of steaming coffee is waiting on the table, right there for me, I can see it now.

The cashier is watching with wide eyes, and she fingers the two dollar bills nervously, thinking she ought to give it to her manager. Her eyes flit to us.

Gaara's strong arms—

"don't touch me"

He stops, frowns. "I'm _going_ to get you warm—"

"I don't _want_ to be touched," I insist, scotching backwards with a loud squeak—my head hits the booth.

His hands close around my chest, and he drags me forward to shift my weight on his capable forearms. Temari moves, as though to help, but Gaara only frowns. She withdraws quickly.

I start to laugh, like a babe in a great hammock, and smile like the stars really _are_ in my eyes.

Gaara stops, looking at me in a strange, confused sort of way. Then he leans in, all the sudden, and kisses me tightly, fiercely.

My eyes roll into my head...and my boyfriend gets a heavy fist to his jaw—

—or would have, if he hadn't'a moved.

I scowl, and let him move me to a sitting position. "...don't push me around, Gaara..." I mutter. "I'm not a toy."

But what does he care? "You need to be taken care of."

Making a face that could have suited a demon, I grab the coffee. "Fuck you, Gaara," throwing the words at him like so much ammunition. My pride ahs shrunk so much I can't find the heart to _really_ be angry.

"...I'm just _tired_ is all..."

With a n expression of _nothing_ to rival the old Sasuke's, Gaara lowers himself next to me. "You're not strong enough."

I shoot him a glare. _"Fuck._ you."

Gaara looks at me with exasperation. "So let me—"

"No! I can take care of myself—"

Pulling at my still-wet hair with a sharp tug, Gaara watches the rain drip down. "Yeah?" he challenges, sea-eyes hard. "So you want me to stop _caring—"_

I choke, and bring the cup of coffee to my lips. It's hot; the black, bitter taste fills my mouth with an acrid _burning_ almost welcome. Soon, I can't taste the darkness.

"...you need help, Naruto—"

"Gaara?" I ask quietly.

This seems enough to calm him, if only a little. "Yeah?"

"...I can't d—"cough, "can you, uh, take me home?" I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes.

Temari puts a hand on my shoulder. "Do you want me to drive your car to—"

I nod. "Your place. I'll...later."

Her face seems strangely cast, as though whoever painted her colors had too little red...she's ghastly pale, and her eyes are full of—

A warm hand snakes its way around my shoulder. "Let's go." Pulling me forward even when I'd rather not move...

This time, I don't have the energy to resist.

In that fat, tittering girl of a cashier, I see some amount of anxiety...and a wooden hand touches her chest from behind—

my eyes remain on her, eliciting a nervous laugh. She turns as I call, "hey!" to Temari.

The girl jumps.

"Keys." And I toss the jingling set of metal-on-rings. "Thanks."

She shrugs, saying nothing. Her beautiful eyes let me know it...she's scared. For me, of me, I don't know...

Gaara pulls my hand, as though I'm nothing more than a doll. I don't know whether or not I should find strength in this.

He opens the door, pushes me in when I won't sit, and buckles the belt just like I'm helpless. But I can't find the words, so he gets in after me, and starts the car.

My heart jolts, and my breath comes in humiliating jitters of small, harsh gasps.

I want to be asleep.

But Gaara brings me back. "You had an ok time with Sasuke?"

I bark a little laugh. "What?" stop to gather my strewn, broken thoughts. "What makes you—"

"You're always more...like this...when you've seen Sasuke."

I don't know what to say. "Oh," I settle, and hastily look away.

There's silence for a while, then he clears his throat. "...why—"

I laugh, high and loud. Even to my own ears, I sound like I've lost it. "He's my—"

"—responsibility." Gaara concludes, not wanting to here the word _love_ from me. "But why can't he go with his own parents—?"

I shuffle, unsure. "...partially 'cause they suck...maybe another part has to do with..." I curl my legs closer to my body, and hug them close. "...he can't take care of himself." I run a hand through my damp hair. "He'd break. Crack under pressure...thing's'd get...ugly...real fast."

Gaara is silent awhile. "...he'd break, huh?" musing a silent little though. Time passes in silence, while he makes all the right turns. "...you wanna stay with me tonight?"

I smile. "Yeah." There'll be no more mysterious figures for me, now... "Oh, and Gaara?"

"Mm?"

"I'm all yours, Tuesday..." I close my eyes. "For St. V-day, you know?"

Gaara's laughter is surprisingly soft. "Okay...it's a date."

* * *

Tuesday morning, seven A.M. I roll over in bed unexpectedly, my eyes curiously open despite the early hour. I smile to myself, and launch outta bed. Time to get up, shower and shave...then breakfast for an insomniac who's likely to be awake... 

Le'see, maybe pancakes and a mango yogurt drink, hmm...I'm turning through his pantry mentally under a shower of warm water, then mine. I run my fingers experimentally over my chin, but not any stubble there...the white blond hair's are all around the center of my neck. Grinning into the mirror, I say, "and who knows what comes to sweet-smelling me on Valentine's Day, hmm?" with a laugh and dab of lathered shampoo—I've forgotten new shaving cream for a week—I get to work.

_Valentine's..._ I muse.

...maybe I'll make 'im a card...

a twinge of something sharp and hot—

shit.

Blood running into the crevices of my skin, going sideways in a twin line of surprising red—cheap razors never really work too well...my eyes trained on that ribbon, and for a second ,I wonder...is that what it'd look like?

Red on golden skin, framed by sunlit locks of that deeper hue...my eyes bluer...

If I ever _really_ put the knife to my throat...

I shake my head to and fro quickly. Can't be doing _that,_ today...

Get dressed—something nice...that outfit Temari picked for Christmas—grab wallet with my bus pass and _run_ for the time, for the sweet smile awaiting me...

A half hour and a convenience store later, I'm at his door with a plastic bag in tow...some yogurt, mango juice—brought from home—and a bright smile on my face...I've got the _whole_ day off...and _just_ for him. I can't help but laugh—

—sullen black eyes and a soft, rebuking smile—

Nope. Nuh-uh. Not _today._

The door opens.

"Gaara—" I grin even wider, eyes shut.

Wordlessly, something light and feathery is forced towards me, my arms.

I open my eyes—shining—  
a sweet, soft  
bouquet...  
he was waiting  
for me.

"...you smell like these..." he notes, a small, shy smile on perfect lips.

Laughing, I snatch the bundle from him, drop the plastic bag and push him inside. My arms tight around his waist, my smile big enough for the two of us. Spontaneously, gloriously, I put my lips to his. Soft, smooth...tasting of dry, desert air, and me of water...

A nice combination, don't you think?

His green eyes—not black—meet mine, and we draw apart. I'm smiling, while only a slight tug at the corner of his mouth shows his amusement. We share a silent laugh, and I pull him along to the kitchen...

Breakfast is filled with teasing laughter and pleased smiles, almost as though I've touched part of him no one else has...and he's reached me...or.

is that just the ghost of a  
memory  
of a kiss?  
of a love...

my laughter spins us around and around, 'till he's got to go—his work isn't as lenient as mine for random days off. So I settle down on his bed to nap the day away...dreaming of demons and seeing faces of lostlings...dreaming the dream that died in me more than a year ago.

_Chiiiii, chiiii, chiiiii._ The alarm goes off just in time.

So, mustering a grin from somewhere tight, I pull out my supplies. Just a few candles, lit all around, and allow myself just a touch of melancholy...

...the Uchiha family...  
...has a bit to do with fire...

Wash that away with thoughts of night wind and desert heat, strong arms and a smile few know so well as me...fire-topped and emerald bidden, yeah?

Right.

'till the air with flower scents—coming from his gift at the bedside—and quickly, quickly, I get things I need. Lotions and oils and all sorts of things for the skin, smelling all of vanilla or flowers...I'll have us feeling new within minutes, fresh and soft as a newly bloomed petal...

The thought makes me smile...

So what's there to do, love, but pretend I'm not in love with your midnight hair and deep eyes? What'm I to do?

I wait, smile, and _hope_ Gaara won't mind the intimate little gestures I'll be showing him,

_tonight._

My head swims, my stomach clenches, is he coming _now_ or later? Just a little longer, open the curtains to let in some of that fading, ed-of-flame light called sunset...just _think._ Only a little longer, now...only a very little longer...

The door opens.

_Hey,_ he says to me, in such a way there are no words...and I reply in similar fashion. The candlelight seems _soft_ on his features...not harsh at all...it's...nice, really...his whole complexion—cast in that light—seems to match mine on normal days...while I, to be sure, drenched in blo—

candlelight.

I pull him, all sweaty from a long day of work, through the room and into the shower, stripping playfully as I walk. Our clothes fall quickly, and as I turn on the water—warm—he removes the difficulties while I...help.

His hands on me, mine on his... quickly gliding as we mingle briefly under the rain-like fall of water...

I can't help but laugh, can't but hold him close despite the heat and massage his shoulder-lades, letting my lips trail across his brow, shoulder...he's big enough to hold me—like those old days, when Sasuke was...

...normal...

Can't stop and think about that, though, gotta keep movin' on, can't lose someone important to me _now_ for a dream of the past...

God.

Were it not a _dream_  
then I could  
fall—fly—backwards   
into a one-time lover's arms.

I kiss him of red and green, smiling softly and _hope_ that I'm enough. That he won't want more—vengeance?—than I can give...

I smile into him, _hoping_ for a sweet respite from loneliness...

Just hoping.

* * *

Sasuke smiles at me as though he's not seeing. 

His eyes are wider than they should be, and his lips are parted in _such_ a way that—oh!—makes me wonder, _what was he like as a child?_

I take his hands in mine, and press a warm and loving _red_ card between two praying palms. My smile isn't as innocent as his, but I can try. "Happy Valentine's." I say. "So, who d'ya wanna make cards for?"

No reply. He looks blankly at the red paper.

"I brought doilies... and lotsa glue, sparkles and lace. All kinds'a stuff. Even a brush, with some paint...d'you remember how your mom taught you?"

I press the brush—it's meant for calligraphy, but I only have paint—into lax fingers. Form a loose grip around his hands, and write in glistening white paint-- _love._

"Valentine's," I breathe, "is a day to say 'I love you,' to everyone important...it's a day to...to be loved."

Sasuke's smile drops a little. "Naruto." His voice is so...distant...

"I still..." I swallow. "Sasuke, I still love you..."

He takes the red paper from my hands, and folds it. Minutes—maybe only one—pass, and he hands it to me...a folded paper heart...

I smile.

Maybe he was listening _after_ all...

I take his hand, put the brush back in place, and guide him through the motions...

_I love you_  
and hope  
quietly  
that it's really  
_true._

* * *

**tbc**...when I have more ideas... 

Sorry for the delay in this story...life...is complicated. Do you have anything to say to me? Asks hopefully

* * *

More importantly... 

Happy Birthday, Taise!  
This isn't your b-day present, but...I wanted to post it today, anyways, 'cause it's been exactly a year since I started it...

In celebration of _you,_ (and me) let's make today special. Says with a grin I'll make you a cup of coffee.


End file.
